Best Worst Christmas
by The Yankee Countess
Summary: Tom Branson and Sybil Crawley are two grad students, studying abroad, and who also happen to be flatmates. On a snowy Christmas Eve, Tom's flight home is grounded, and both he and Sybil are "stuck", spending Christmas together without much in the way of food, heat, or electricity. It's shaping out to be the worst Christmas ever...or is it? An S/T Secret Santa fic for mimijag.
1. Christmas Eve

_**JOYEUX NOEL, MIMIJAG!** 'Tis I, your Secret Santa, bringing your story request to you (and which, what a shocker coming from me, ends up being split into a few parts because I just can't write one-shots apparently). ANYWAY, I wanted to get part one out for Christmas Eve; hope to get the next bit done for Christmas, otherwise, it will get posted during the week! BUT I HOPE YOU ENJOY IT! And that is true for anyone who reads this :oP  
_

 _Mimi's prompt was:_ I would like to have some fluff between Tom and Sybil but not as an already formed couple. I want them to go there. (They already know each other or just met, your choice). _  
_

 _Well, an idea did come to me upon reading this, and I couldn't help myself. This story is rated T for now, but the rating will go up by the end (just so that you're aware). Anyway, again, I wish you, mimijag, a happy Christmas, and I wish ALL OF YOU, a very joyful, holiday season, and thank you, as always, for taking the time to read! HAPPY HOLIDAYS!_

* * *

 **Best Worst Christmas  
by The Yankee Countess  
** _for mimijag_

 _CHRISTMAS EVE_

"…But what are you going to do? You're stuck there, all alone, and it's Christmas!"

Sybil sighed and tried her hardest not to roll her eyes. "Plenty of people spend Christmas by themselves, Mama."

Cora Crawley frowned. "Yes, but those people have no choice! Whereas you do!"

"No, actually mum, I don't."

"Are you seriously telling me that there was no one you could have traded shifts with? No one in your program that lives closer?"

"Mama, it's not that simple! They told us months ago that there was a chance we would be assigned to serve a hospital shift during a major holiday, and mine just happened to be Christmas," Sybil explained with a bit of a shrug. She knew she was probably sounding far too casual about the whole thing and not indignant enough for her mother's sake, but she was tired, and her stomach was growling, and this conversation wasn't going anywhere. "Look at this way," Sybil attempted to reason. "It's good practice for when I become a doctor, because I'm sure there will be quite a few Christmases in the future where I have to work shift."

Cora did not find this soothing in the slightest. She stared back at Sybil through the Skype screen, a deep frown on her face. "Are you truly alone tomorrow?"

"Mama—"

"I would just feel better if I knew you weren't spending the entirety of Christmas by yourself."

"Mama, I'm going to be spending a bulk of the day at the hospital! I'll be surrounded by hundreds of people! I'm not going to be lonely."

Cora still didn't look pleased. "What about Tonya? Is she spending Christmas there?"

At the mention of her flatmate, Sybil sighed and shook her head. "No, mum, I told you, several weeks ago when I told you about staying here for Christmas, that Tonya was flying back to Ireland to see her family."

Sybil wasn't mistaken by the sudden hitch she heard in her mother's throat. "So you truly are alone…"

"Oh, Mama, please don't—"

"Oh I know, I know, I'm being silly," Cora groaned, before taking a tissue and dabbing at her eyes. "It's just…I haven't seen you since you left for Chicago in August, and I miss you, darling—I know you always roll your eyes at me, but…you're my baby, Sybil and you always will be, no matter how big you get, you'll always be my beauty and my baby."

Sybil swallowed back the emotional lump that was forming in her throat. Her mother always got like this around the holidays, but she was even more so this year since it was the first Christmas in either of their lives, when Sybil wouldn't be there. Guilt stabbed at her heart.

"We'll Skype again tomorrow," Sybil promised.

Cora gasped. "Oh! Oh yes, darling, yes—what time? Are you sure it won't interfere with your shift?"

Sybil chewed on her bottom lip. "It should be fine if we do it early…meaning early here. Like at roughly…" she calculated the time difference. "Two in the afternoon there?"

"Oh yes! Yes, that works! And your sisters will be here then—I'll make sure we're all gathered to wish you a lovely Christmas!"

Sybil smiled, glad to see that her mother had brightened at this bit of news. At least that was one present she could give. The conversation soon came to an end, as it was quickly approaching midnight back in England, and Sybil signed off and closed her laptop, flopping back onto the second-hand couch her flatmate had purchased who knows long ago. She stared up at the ceiling, making a face at some of the dirty water spot stains, before sighing and finally pushing herself up onto her feet. Well…now what? Here she was, Christmas Eve, with the entire flat all to herself. Suddenly, after that conversation with her mother, all the Christmas Eve plans Sybil had made for herself seemed bittersweet at best, even the _Doctor Who_ Christmas Special marathon she had been looking forward to having all week. Actually, what sounded really good right now was a hot soak in the tub, something she didn't do as often as she liked when her flatmate was around. But seeing as how she had the place to herself…

With a determined nod, Sybil went and started filling the tub, adding some peppermint bath salts a fellow medical student had given her as a Christmas present, then rushed down the end of the hall to retrieve her laundry which she had started before her Skype conversation with her mother. She quickly threw her clothes into the dryer, save for two knit tops and her bras, which she brought back to the flat and proceeded to hang on the various radiators to help them dry faster. Again, not something she did when her flatmate was around.

One of the radiators was near a window, and Sybil peeked outside and gasped, her eyes widening at the big, fat snowflakes that were raining down. She remembered hearing talk about a Christmas Eve blizzard rolling off Lake Michigan and hitting Chicago and the surrounding suburbs, but the earlier part of the day had been bright and sunny and the temperatures seemed terribly mild for late December…

A shiver ran down her spine and she closed the curtains, glad she wasn't out in that mess. The snow was beautiful to see, but after living in the Windy City for several months, and being exposed to its radical weather changes, snow had lost some of its charm on her. With a shake of her head, she hurried back to the bathroom and turned off the taps, smiling at the smell of peppermint wafting up from the warm steam. She poured herself a glass of wine, grabbed a romance novel from the box she kept under her bed (what she liked to read when she could take a break from medical textbooks) undressed, and then finally sank into the warm, peppermint scented waters, a happy and contented sigh escaping her lips.

"Happy Christmas indeed," she said to herself. Despite the weather outside and the guilt she had felt after that conversation with her mother, it was turning out to not be such a bad one after all…

* * *

 _"…What about a later flight? Surely something will open up in the next few hours—the Red Eye even!"_

Tom sighed and shook his head, despite the fact that his mother couldn't see him. "No, Mam, everything's canceled. Nothing's going out—all flights are grounded."

His mother made a snort. _"I've been to Chicago, back in the winter of 1979, right after your Uncle Eamon got married—"_

"Aye, Mam, I know—one of worst winters on record," Tom groaned, remembering this story all too well whenever he dared to complain about the weather—or remind his mother once again that he had chosen to do his Ph. D work at Northwestern University, just north of Chicago, rather than somewhere much closer to home.

 _"If planes could travel then, they can travel now."_

"I highly doubt any planes traveled if things were as bad as you say they were," he muttered.

 _"Tom Branson, just because you're twenty-six years old and thousands of miles away, doesn't mean I won't put you over my knee for cheeky remarks like that."_

Despite present circumstances, he did grin at that.

His mother gave a frustrated sigh. _"So you're stuck there, then."_

"I'm afraid so," he answered, somewhat glumly. He had been looking forward to a flight home and spending Christmas with his mother and siblings.

 _"I suppose the one bright side to all this is that now you can attend midnight mass…"_

Tom stared at the taxi bay outside O'Hare International Airport, watching the various yellow cabs skid every which way. He'd be lucky to make it back to the flat in one piece before midnight.

 _"What are you going to do tomorrow?"_ his mother demanded from her end of the phone. _"Your aunt and uncle aren't in town this Christmas, where will you go?"_

Tom sighed and ran his hand through his hair. "Who says I have to go anywhere?" he grumbled. "Why can't I just…stay where I am?"

 _"And celebrate Christmas all by_ yourself _!?"_ she asked in a horrified voice.

Tom bit the inside of his cheek. "Well, Mam, I won't be by myself if that helps; Simon will be there—"

 _"Your flatmate?"_ his mother asked in surprise _. "_ He _was going to spend Christmas by himself?"_

Suddenly all of his mother's concern had shifted to his flatmate.

"Aye, but there was a reason—"

 _"Well, as sad as I am that you'll not be here tomorrow, I am glad to know that you'll be keeping dear Simon company for the holiday."_

 _Dear Simon._ Tom rolled his eyes.

 _"Take him to midnight mass with you,"_ his mother instructed.

Tom just sighed in agreement, not wanting to argue otherwise.

 _"And call me tomorrow!"_ she ordered, something he wouldn't dare to argue even if he wanted to. _"But not too early—or too late, understand? Don't call when we're in the middle of having dinner."_

"Aye, Mam."

 _"I don't know what you're going to do about dinner for yourself, tomorrow,"_ she grumbled. _"Everything will be shut, and you won't be able to get your hands on any decent food—"_

"The flat is just next door to a Chinse restaurant."

 _"Like I said, you won't be able to get your hands on any_ decent _food."_

Tom bit back his laugh. Oh, Lord love his mother, but she did fret over the most miniscule details. "Mam, I need to go before this storm gets any worse," he told her, seeing a taxi skid to the curb. "I'll call you tomorrow, I promise—Happy Christmas!" he called out, not just to her, but anyone else that was nearby listening. He darted out to the cab and stuffed his suitcases back into the boot, before telling the driver where to go, and being sure to buckle his seatbelt as the cab lurched forward.

The journey without traffic would take thirty minutes at most, and while there were hardly any cars on the road, the snow made it that much more difficult, and after several skids here and there, Tom finally returned to Chicago's north-side neighborhood of Rogers Park…precisely eighty-four minutes later.

By now, the snow was even thicker, and the wind was _really_ howling. He had seen a few snowplows and salt trucks out on the roads, but as soon as they managed to clear a patch of street, the snow just covered it back up. With gritted teeth, he lugged his two suitcases up the slippery sidewalk and into the building of his flat, then gritted his teeth again as he lugged the suitcases up the three flights of stairs to the top floor. If he remembered correctly, his flatmate, while staying there over Christmas, was actually going to be working on Christmas Eve, something he didn't wish upon anyone. He frowned as he thought about what the weather, wondering how his flatmate would get home later?

Tom turned the key into the door and found the lights in the front room had been turned off, save the tiny Christmas tree which was atop a small table near one of the windows that overlooked the street. His flatmate had left it on, wasting electricity, but then again, it was Christmas.

He was tired to carrying his suitcases, so he left them by the door, and proceeded to remove his snow-covered coat, as well as his soaked-through shoes. He gave his head a shake, grimacing as some ice crystals got under his shirt. He quickly peeled that off too, and…because he had the place to himself, unbuttoned his trousers and peeled them down his legs until he was only standing in his heather-gray boxer briefs.

"Shower," he muttered to himself. That was what he needed, a nice, hot shower. Picking up his wet clothes, and threw them atop a nearby radiator without looking, and padded down the small hallway to the bathroom, where the scent of peppermint wafted in the air. However, instead of questioning where the scent was coming from, he simply pushed the bathroom door open, his hand on the waistband of his briefs, in the process of tugging them down when he froze at the sight that greeted him, and then stumbled backward at her shriek.

" _TOM!"_

A wave of water splashed over the rim of the tub in her sudden effort to cover herself from his view. Tom himself quickly shut his eyes at the sound of her shriek and instinct had him backing out, however, the back of his leg hit the toilet and he began to lose his balance. He reached out for the sink in an effort to catch himself, but it was all in vain. He landed, hard, on his tailbone, causing him to grunt in pain. "Fuuuuuck," he swore, wincing as he attempted to roll over to relieve pressure from his bruised backside, only to discover that he had rolled right onto a puddle caused by her splash, and now the entire front of his boxer briefs were soaked (and it didn't help that the water felt cold on the tile floor; as if he weren't embarrassed enough).

He was groaning and attempting to sit up, sucking in a deep breath as he felt a spasm of pain in his lower back. The sound of water dripping and sloshing drew his attention back towards the tub, and then the next thing he knew, his flatmate (now covered with a towel) was hovering over him. "Oh my God, Tom—are you alright?"

He bit back the sarcastic answer he wanted to mutter, knowing that wouldn't help the situation at the moment, and instead just shook his head.

"Sorry, stupid question," Sybil muttered under her breath. "Where does it hurt? Show me, and rate the pain on a scale of 1 to 10?"

Her inner doctor was coming out, but what else would be expected? There were certainly some advantages to having a medical student as a flatmate. "Well, I'd say it's a 10, but even I know that's an exaggeration," he grumbled, and despite the helping hand she was offering, rolled away from her slightly and attempted to get up on his own two feet.

"Easy," she cautioned, noticing that he was still in a great deal of pain as he got onto his hands and knees. "Let me help you…"

He sighed, and reluctantly nodded his head, wishing he could be like her and wrap a towel around himself to hide the wet lower portion of his body. But Sybil was ever the professional, and despite the fact that she was standing there, dripping wet herself, with nothing but a thin, white towel wrapped around her body…

Tom swallowed and tried to look elsewhere. Despite the fact that the front of his boxer briefs were cold due to the water, it didn't seem that the temperature was having any kind of effect in keeping certain things from…reacting.

"I'm fine, honestly," he assured her as soon as he felt his feet planted firmly beneath him. He wasted no time in turning his body away before she noticed anything. "What are you doing here anyway?"

"Me?" she asked, and when Tom looked over his shoulder at her, he noticed how she whipped her head up quickly to meet his eyes. Her cheeks were a dark pink, but that could have been due to the hot water.

"I thought you had a shift at the hospital tonight?"

Her face seemed to darken even more at his question. "I…no," she answered. "No…not…not tonight."

Those last words were practically mumbled. Tom frowned; he swore he remembered her saying that she was staying behind for Christmas because she had a hospital shift. Maybe she meant Christmas Day?

"But what about you?" she asked, turning the question back to him again. "Aren't you supposed to be flying back to Dublin?"

"The answer to that question lies in the word _'supposed',"_ he muttered, wincing ever so slightly as he began to walk out of the bathroom. "All flights out of Chicago are presently grounded due to weather."

He heard Sybil follow him. "But wasn't your flight scheduled for three this afternoon?"

"The storm was already pretty bad by then—although I'd say it's gotten steadily worse since…" He paused to look out a window at the snow covered streets below. There was no way a plane was going to fly into or out of the city any time soon. He looked over his shoulder at her again, and felt his own cheeks rush with heat when he noticed that she was looking at his arse. Sybil seemed to sense that he was noticing that she was noticing, and once again snapped her eyes back up to his face.

"Um…" she coughed and turned her face away. "You should put something on your back…like some ice or something to keep the bruising down."

Tom groaned at the word "ice". "I have some muscle cream in my gym bag; but honestly, Sybil, I'm ok…" She had gone into the kitchen (which was attached to their living room) and had opened up freezer to get some ice cubes. She turned back to him and his voice faded as his eyes couldn't help but follow a few random drops dripping down her neck…into the crevice of her cleavage…

"I'm going to get that cream," he muttered then, moving quickly and telling his body to stop doing what it was doing, and instead tried to imagine something entirely unappealing to calm it down. What was wrong with him? He had been sharing this flat with Sybil for nearly four months, and despite a few embarrassing moments here and there (who could forget that time her underwear got mixed up with his laundry?), he had never "suffered" from such a…reaction.

Not that he didn't think she was gorgeous, a man would have to blind not to notice that, but…well, she was his flatmate, and it just seemed wrong to think of your flatmate in such a way that would result in a hard-on.

 _Yeah, but you've never walked in on her wet and naked before,_ an impish voice inside his head attempted to reason. And while she had moved to quickly cover herself (and momentarily blinded him with her splash) he had still managed to catch a glimpse of her lovely curves. "Stop it," he muttered to himself as soon as he managed to shut the door behind him. He leaned against the wood and took a few, deep, calming breaths, before finally divesting himself of his wet underwear, and tugging on a clean pair, as well as some track bottoms which he typically wore to the gym. He threw on his Henley (after a quick application of the muscle cream to his lower back), and after a few more calming breaths, assured he had his body under control once again…finally stepped out of his room.

Sybil wasn't in the living room, but this didn't surprise him. She had probably gone to put some clothes on herself, which was a very good thing, as the towel she had wrapped around her body had barely been able to contain—

 _Damn it, stop!_ he ordered his body, as it once again began to "respond" to the delicious images he had seen not that long ago. The creak of a door alerted Tom that Sybil was emerging, and when he looked over his shoulder, he saw her head poking out from behind her door. "All better?" she asked, although he wasn't quite sure to _what_ she was asking.

 _She means your back, you idiot._ He swallowed and forced a smile, before nodding his head. "Yeah, it did the trick," he assured her.

At this, Sybil smiled, looking both glad and relieved, and Tom felt his heart lift at the simple expression. That was probably the first thing he had noticed about Sybil when they met: her smile. She had a beautiful, infectious smile, one that could melt the iciest of hearts. And despite their recent embarrassing encounter, Tom did feel himself relax. _"_ Um, you want some tea? I was going to make myself a cup..."

"Oh, I'll make it!" Sybil told him, emerging fully from her room. She waved her hand at him, pointing to the nearby couch. "You sit down and relax—do you want Earl Grey? I think there's some still left…" she muttered as she began rummaging through the tea cupboard.

 _The tea cupboard._ That was Tom's name for the cabinet above the stove where Sybil kept every kind of box and tin of Twinings she could get her hands on. She liked coffee in the morning, and the occasional cup of hot chocolate here and there, but tea…tea was her favorite, and she drank a minimum of six cups a day. There wasn't a tea she didn't like, from what Tom could tell. And where most people would wait until they had finished all of one box or tin before opening another, Sybil would drink a cup of English Breakfast one hour, then go back and make herself a cup of Lemon Chamomile an hour later, and then another hour have Green Tea with Peppermint. It was one of her many…quirks…that Tom found rather charming. Including now, seeing her move about their little kitchen in what he mentally called her "Christmas pajamas"—red and green plaid flannel, which looked a size too big for her. If he hadn't seen her in that towel earlier, he might not believe the curvaceous figure that was hiding underneath—

 _God, what is wrong with you?_ Indeed, what _was_ wrong with him? This wasn't the first time Tom had seen her in those pajamas, and…well, alright, he couldn't deny that he did think she looked rather adorable in them. But again, that was just an extension of who she was. _Who she is…_

"Right, kettle's boiling," Sybil announced, turning back to face him, her hands on her hips. "Have you eaten anything this evening?" she asked, her hand seeming to reach for a nearby frying pan.

"I'm fine, really," he assured her, his eyes lingering on the pan momentarily, recalling how this past weekend, she had declared she was going to make them both a "traditional English fry-up" to celebrate the end of the semester, and how she had set off several smoke detectors instead.

Sybil made an excellent cup of tea, but she had a long way to go when it came to cooking.

"Actually, if you have any of those biscuits left…"

The shadow of disappointment that had briefly fallen across her face, changed completely at the request for some of the biscuits she had baked (also this past weekend). Again, another one of Sybil's "quirky charms"; she couldn't cook, but she loved trying. Thankfully, as he was pleasantly surprised to discover, she was a decent baker.

"I was thinking of making some more tomorrow," Sybil told him as she opened the tin and held it out for him. "Some festive ginger snaps, because nothing says 'Christmas' like gingerbread, or so Mrs. Patmore would always say," she giggled to herself.

 _Mrs. Patmore…oh that's right, her family's cook._ That was still so surreal to him, the fact that Sybil was a member of the British peerage. It was something she didn't reveal until a good month after she had moved in with him. A letter arrived, addressed to "Lady Sybil Crawley", and Tom at first thought that whoever had written it, was simply having a go and sharing a private joke. But Sybil turned bright red when he showed her the envelope and the teasing note in his voice quickly died as he realized…it wasn't a joke, she really was a "Lady" in the aristocratic sense. And then she admitted everything, that her father was the Earl of Grantham, and their old family estate was up in Yorkshire, a place called "Downton Abbey", to which Tom googled and muttered, "fuck me!" upon seeing the massive estate.

Sybil did sound posh, or…as he imagined a posh person would sound (in the corner of Dublin where he grew up, you didn't run into many "posh" folks). But never, not once, would he have guessed her to be an aristocrat. She just…she just didn't have that sort of attitude (although to be fair, she was the first aristocrat he had ever met, so what kind of attitude was she supposed to have?). She wasn't stuck-up or snobbish, and she wasn't afraid to do her share of chores around the flat, nor was she helpless when it came to doing those chores. She might not be able to cook, but she knew how make a bed, fold laundry, and even scrub a toilet. Maybe _he_ was the one who was out-of-touch? Maybe all earls' daughters were just like her?

No, he thought with a bit of a chuckle. No, there was no one just like Sybil…

Tom was suddenly struck by something she had said. "You're going to bake some more tomorrow?" he asked.

"That was the plan," Sybil confirmed with a nod, stealing a biscuit for herself as the kettle began to scream. She went to work removing it from the hot stove and carefully pouring the boiling water into their waiting mugs.

Tom watched, but his mind was elsewhere. "Will you have the time?" he asked. "I mean…how long is your shift tomorrow?"

Sybil paused, mid-pour at his question. "Um…no, that won't be a problem," she mumbled, her eyes fixed on their mugs as she finished pouring the last of the water. "Let that steep for a bit," she murmured, before turning her back to him to put the biscuits away.

Tom frowned. Something wasn't right; this was the second time he had made a mention about her hospital shift, and both times, she seemed to stiffen and avoid his eyes.

"I'm sorry about your flight," he heard her murmur. She was tidying up, but she did glance at him and looked truly sympathetic. "I know you were looking forward to being home for Christmas."

Tom sighed and nodded his head. "I was, I can't deny; I started to feel homesick ever since Christmas decorations began popping up, and it's only been getting worse."

Sybil seemed alarmed by this information. In truth, it was the first time he had voiced it. "Are you…were you thinking of…of staying over there, once you got back?"

Tom frowned. "Stay over there…?"

"Well, you just said your homesickness has been getting worse—"

"Oh!" he realized now why she had leapt to that conclusion and quickly shook his head. "No, no, I mean—yes, I do miss my family, but…like I said, seeing the decorations and adverts on TV, just make me miss Christmas _at home_ , that's what I mean," he explained. "I have every intention of coming back and finishing my doctorate," he assured, before chuckling nervously as he tried to imagine how long that would take (years, but hopefully not decades). He turned his attention back to her and tilted his head to one side. "What about you?" he asked.

Sybil was reaching for her mug of tea, but paused and looked surprised by his question. "Me?"

Tom nodded, reaching for his own mug and taking a sip. "Aren't you going to miss Christmas at the castle?"

She rolled her eyes then. "It's _not_ a castle—"

"Like hell it isn't," he chuckled, more so at the glare she was giving him. In the short time he had gotten to know her, Tom quickly learned how much fun it was, getting a rise out of her. But she could dish it out every bit as well as he could. "But let's not be distracted by semantics. So, aren't you?"

She was trying to pour some milk into her tea. "Aren't I what?"

Was she being purposefully thick? "I'm asking if you're going to miss being home for Christmas—in all seriousness, you haven't said much about Downton—"

"Because I didn't see the point!" Sybil all but snapped, causing Tom's eyebrows to lift in surprise. They had raised their voices to one another and lost their tempers to each other on a few occasions in the past, but…this was different. There was annoyance in her tone, but there was also something else, something…something that she was trying to keep buried, and hidden. Something connected to her life back in England…

"You don't see the point…" Tom repeated, watching her carefully. "Because you knew weren't going home due to your…shift at the hospital?"

Again, she didn't meet his eyes, but she nodded her head at his words and brought her mug to her lips, concentrating on that, instead. While he was trying to put the puzzle pieces that was his flatmate's aversion to Christmas back in England, he couldn't help but focus on her lips, which were blowing the surface of her tea. He especially couldn't help but notice how…prettily…they looked, when she puckered them…

"I'm knackered," Sybil suddenly announced then. Tom frowned at this and glanced at the clock over the stove. It wasn't even half-past nine. Even on mornings when Sybil had to get up before dawn, it was rare she would go to bed before midnight. "Anyway, I'm just going to, um…take my tea and go to bed," she all but muttered those last words. With her mug in her hands, she turned and padded out of the kitchen.

Tom felt disappointment fill his chest at her announcement. "Syb, I'm sorr—"

"No, I'm sorry," she interrupted, pausing just before she retreated into her room. She finally turned her head and looked back at him, and there, just briefly, Tom saw what it was, the hidden emotion she was trying to keep him and the world from seeing: guilt.

"I'm really sorry that you can't get back to Ireland for Christmas," she murmured.

He was sorry too, but he gave her a kind and gracious smile for her words. "Thank you, but…I'd rather be snowed in here on Christmas, than spending it at O'Hare."

The corners of her mouth curled upward. She looked over her shoulder at him and…he wasn't sure what it was, the way her skin seemed to softly glow by the light of their little tree, or the way her eyes seemed to shimmer, the blue in them more beautiful than ever, or just the way she simply smiled, but…for whatever reason, he felt his throat go dry and his heart slow until it's beating was echoing loudly in his ears.

"Merry Christmas, Tom," she whispered.

Somehow, by some miracle, he found his voice, and replied back, "Merry Christmas, Sybil…"

She smiled, and nodded her head, before murmuring "good night", and with her tea in hand, slipped into her room and shut the door. A long, shaky breath escaped his lungs then, and Tom felt his whole body sag from the unknown tension he had been feeling.

What was going on? Why was he feeling like this? _Christmas, that's why; you're being overly sensitive due to the holiday, and feel sorry for yourself that you weren't able to fly back_. That had to be the reason; after all, he had Sybil had been flatmates since August, and not once had he ever felt…

…Well, _maybe_ , but…but it wasn't like that! He had been stunned when the bloke he come to see about the flat turned out to _not_ be a bloke, but this was the 21st century, men and women could live together without any kind of romantic or sexual agenda…

" _She is fit…"_ one of his so-called friends had muttered to him shortly after he and Sybil had moved in. He had looked at his friend with annoyance, and that annoyance only grew when his friend asked him if he was going "try" anything with her, to which he simply growled, _"don't."_

" _Fine, but you're wasting a perfectly good opportunity. And if you're not interested, maybe you could put in a good word for someone who is—"_

Tom never invited his "friend" back over after that.

He sank down onto the couch and stared at the blank television screen for a long time, lost in his thoughts. He had gone on a few dates since coming there, and had even at one point, brought a girl over with the intention of staying the night. However, while the two of them were sitting on that very couch, and things were starting to escalate to the point where he was going to suggest they move to the bedroom, that was when the door to the flat opened and Sybil came in, her arms full with two large grocery bags.

His flatmate gasped and apologized, while his date stared in shock, before turning and shoving him away from her. _"You said you were single!"_ she accused.

Sybil, embarrassed for what she had walked in on and interrupted, looked horrified at the conclusion his date had come to. _"Oh no, I'm Sybil, Tom's flatmate—"_

" _Whatever,"_ his date muttered, standing up and fixing her blouse, before grabbing her jacket and pushing past Sybil. _"If you were 'just' his flatmate, he would have said something,"_ she turned her hateful gaze at him then. _"And it wasn't like you didn't have enough opportunity to say 'oh by the way, the person I share this apartment with is a woman'!"_

Tom didn't bring another woman back to the flat after that incident.

As for Sybil, Tom couldn't recall an incident when she had brought a bloke over to spend the night. They had never really discussed the "rules" about having guests stay. They both seemed to respect one another's privacy, and treated each other like "adults".

No, it was more than that, like…like _equals_ , really.

But even though he couldn't remember ever waking up some morning and finding a guy slip out of the flat, he had met a few of Sybil's dates when they had come by to pick her up, and…while he kept all comments to himself, there were a few who he couldn't help but wonder _why_ she was bothering with them, when within the first five minutes, he could quickly tell they were far, far out of her league.

 _And you are?_ Tom's face burned at the sudden question. Why was he even thinking about any of this? With a groan, he picked up the television remote and turned on the news, all of which seemed to be focused on the massive snow storm that was sweeping the region.

"…Snow isn't the only issue we'll be having this Christmas; meteorologists warn that a huge cold front will also be descending on the metropolitan area, with temperatures dropping to below freezing levels after midnight, and lasting until mid-afternoon Christmas Day. So if you are going out this Christmas, make sure to bundle up!"

A shiver ran down Tom's spine, and he looked towards a nearby window, shivering anew at the sound of the howling wind and the sight of snow pelting the glass. He took another sip of his tea, grateful for the hot liquid, and even more grateful that he had made the decision to come back to the flat, rather than wait the storm out at the airport.

He turned the television off, and lifted himself up off the couch. It was a quarter to ten, but the events of the day were finally starting to catch up with him. Like Sybil, he too would call it a night. So with his own mug of tea in hand, he went into his own bedroom and quietly shut the door, pausing when he heard the soft sound of music coming from the opposite wall.

Bing Crosby was quietly singing about dreaming of a white Christmas. Well, Bing was definitely going to be getting his wish. Still, hearing the music did make Tom smile; Sybil had been playing Christmas music every night in her room since December began. He remembered her "warning" him about this, that she hated hearing Christmas music played any time before December, but once the month began, she couldn't get enough of it, and especially liked to listen to it before going to bed.

…It was another one of her "quirky charms". He had smiled and even laughed when she had told him this, and he was smiling and chuckling softly to himself now at the memory. As much as he wished he was on a plane, flying back to Dublin, this wasn't so bad. Maybe this would turn out to be a good Christmas after all?

However, he would be questioning that line of thinking later, after he had finished his tea, turned out the lights, and settled under the warm blankets, the sounds of Sybil's music lulling him to sleep…before waking up and shivering to discover that at some point in the middle of the night, the heat had stopped working and the power was out.

 _To be continued..._

* * *

 _UH OH! :oP_

 _Also, they say "write what you know" and while I wanted to set this in America, I realized that I didn't know enough about Boston or New York to set the story there, but being a Chicago native, and having done some grad work at Northwestern, I went with that._

 _NEXT UP, how will Tom and Sybil end up spending Christmas? Will he learn the real reason why Sybil's being so secretive? And perhaps most importantly...what are they going to do when they can't ignore the cold any longer? ;o)_


	2. The Night Before

_Happy New Year! Here, at last, is part 2. I'm going to start working on part 3 right away, so hopefully sometime this weekend, it will up *fingers crossed* Thank you so much for those of you have read this story so far; it's a lot of fun and I am enjoying the romantic comedy elements ;o) You have may noticed that I went ahead and "upped" the rating to **M** as things start to "heat up" in a manner of speaking. And without further ado..._

* * *

 _'TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS...  
_

Sybil Crawley had the rare gift of being able to stay up late, and then rise early the following morning without a great deal of trouble. However, that didn't mean she preferred "early mornings", she was just able to adjust to them if the need arose. No, waking up before dawn wasn't the difficulty, it was going to sleep before midnight that was the struggle.

Sybil sighed and stared up at the ceiling of her little bedroom. She had strung Christmas lights along the edges where the wall and ceiling met, and right now their light was all that illuminated her room.

It was peaceful, really. Despite the sound of ice and wind, pelting the glass of her tiny window, she felt calm and serene inside this little space, her tea nestled in her hands, lying atop her stomach.

Yet despite that peace, she still didn't feel remotely tired.

She had left her book in the bathroom; perhaps later, when she was sure Tom had gone to bed, she would go and retrieve it. She knew he was still out there, she heard the sound of the TV coming through one of the room's thin walls. He had the news on, which was pretty typical for him. Tom didn't watch a great deal of TV, but when he did, it was the news. It was a…"quirky charm" of his, as her American grandmother might say. And it made sense, this love for the news; after all, his master's degree was in political science.

She remembered him telling her that he preferred the local news stations to the national ones, and since living in the US, he certainly preferred the news on channels like PBS over the bigger-name stations, like CNN. And PBS would show BBC World News late at night, so she imagined he would be staying up till then, at the very least. No, she would not be emerging from her room any time soon.

Sybil sat up a bit to take a sip of her tea, frowning at the luke-warm temperature of the liquid (tea was best when it was piping hot). Fantastic; not only was she unable to go and retrieve her book, but she couldn't leave to reheat her tea. Of course…this was no one's fault but her own, she knew. She was being stubborn, and pig-headed, but she was also proud (she had enough Crawley in her for that). Tom would either continue with his questions, or simply look at her with pity (or possibly annoyance). Either way, she just wasn't up to seeing or speaking with anyone right now.

Setting her tea aside, Sybil reached for her ipod, which was hooked up to some speakers near her bed, and put on her Christmas playlist. Oh the irony, when Frank Sinatra began singing to simply _"Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow…"_

"I think we've had enough of that," she muttered, as she skipped to the next song _(Winter Wonderland)_ and the next _(It's a Marshmallow World in the Winter)_ and the next _(In the Bleak Midwinter)_ —good grief, how many of these songs were about snow? She was tired of skipping, and so decided that no matter what the next song was, she'd let it play…and laughed to herself as Bing Crosby's voice filled her ears.

" _I'm dreaming of a White Christmas…"_

No need to dream, they were getting a white Christmas whether they wanted one or not.

" _Just like the ones I used to know…"_

Sybil smirked to herself at hearing the line. She supposed every child (at least those that grew up in the northern hemisphere) yearned for a "white Christmas". She had been no different, though only on a handful of occasions could she recall there being snow on Christmas morning. Most of her childhood Christmases were gray and damp, the very opposite of what you would print on a seasonal postcard.

"… _I'm dreaming of a White Christmas,  
With every Christmas card I write…"_

This song was depressing. It sang of picturesque winter scenes and nostalgic cheer. It had been written during the height of WW2, and Sybil imagined all the soldiers hearing it and longing for those Christmases of the past. But the past was never as "picturesque" as one's mind made it. Which was why so many people were often disappointed when they tried to recreate it. It just didn't work, because the reality would never be as "perfect" as the memory.

With a groan, and despite her earlier resolution to let the song play out, Sybil rolled over onto her side and reached out to hit the next song on her ipod.

" _I'll be home for Christmas—"_

She quickly turned the ipod off.

The living room was quiet, she realized. Had Tom already gone to bed? She glanced at the clock next to her bed and frowned. Granted, she tried to reason, he had had a full day, waking earlier than usual to get his things together before leaving for the airport (and the flight that would go to nowhere). He was probably exhausted, if not physically, then emotionally at the very least. Her heart broke for him, and not for the first time; she knew he had been looking forward to this trip, that he missed his family and his home, as he had revealed just a little while ago, to the point where she thought perhaps he was telling her he wasn't going to return? And he still might not. Despite his "promise" that he would come back to Northwestern to finish his doctorate, he very well might change his mind. He might realize that he missed Ireland too much, missed being around his family and old friends; he had only started his doctorate program, he could easily transfer what he had done so far to another school, one much closer, one _actually in_ Ireland…

The thought depressed her greatly. Which rather surprised her, somewhat. She liked Tom, she liked him very much, she liked to think they were more than "just flatmates", but good friends as well. She still smiled whenever she thought about their first meeting, how she had come to look at the apartment, wanting to have a place of her own (in a manner of speaking) that wasn't part of campus housing, thinking that the potential roommate she was meeting was another med student (the landlord had used the words "student doctor"), not to mention female, but...no, that wasn't the case, not at all. She had walked into the flat, a bit out of breath from climbing the various flights of stairs, her brow sweaty due to the August heat, and nearly crashed into the stocky, broad-shouldered stranger, who happened to be checking the fuse box just on the inside of the apartment.

They caught each other and stared with wide-eyes at one another, both a bit taken aback by the sight of the other (and the closeness of their bodies). After righting themselves (and a few mumbled apologies) it suddenly began to dawn on the both of them that _they_ were the potential flatmates for this place.

Sybil's first instinct was to say "no" (actually, her first instinct was to grumble at the landlord for not being clearer when they had spoken over the phone), but…why not? So what if he was a "Tom" and not a "Tonya"? This was the twenty-first century, men and women could share a living space without having…anything…between them. Her cheeks burned at the thought, but she gave a shake of her head, swallowed the somewhat nervous lump in her throat, and extended her hand to him and introduced herself, surprising the both of them again when they heard each other's accents.

A half-hour later, they were sitting in a nearby coffee shop, "interviewing" each other to see if this could actually work. Another half-hour later, they were both laughing and smiling and sharing all sorts of stories, and Sybil knew, that yes, it could.

However, as tonight had proven, that didn't mean there weren't…awkward moments, every so often. Her face still burned at the memory of walking in that one time, and finding Tom and his date at the time, snogging on the couch. She had gone on a few dates herself, since coming to the states, but nothing serious, and certainly nothing serious enough that she wanted to bring a guy back to her and Tom's flat, which was just as well, because on those occasions when her date would come to pick her up, they always seemed a bit…uneasy…that she was living with another bloke. And they certainly never seemed to completely believe her, when she insisted that all they were to each other was flatmates. Their landlord certainly seemed to believe they were a couple (and it eventually got the point that both Tom and Sybil gave up trying to correct him otherwise).

Perhaps it was only a matter of time before one of them walked in on the other while in the bath? Sybil blushed as she remembered sneaking into the bathroom while Tom was in the shower once, to grab some mouthwash, and staring momentarily at the outline of his body, hidden by the closed shower curtain, but the shadow quite visible, and her eyes only widened as she noticed one his hands, squirting some soap onto a washcloth, and moving it down his chest, his stomach, his pelvis, until he reached…

Sybil groaned and rolled over until her face was buried against her pillow. These were not welcome thoughts. Oh God, and when he walked in on her this evening, how much of her had he seen!? _Enough_ , that was the answer. Certainly more than she had seen of him, recalling how he had entered the bathroom with every intention of peeling his boxer briefs down, only to stop when he saw her and she shrieked in surprise. And then he had fallen, and while she tried to grant him some privacy and look away, she couldn't help but notice the bulge in the front his underwear…or the contours of his arse from behind. And made only more obvious, since he was soaking wet below the waist…

And OF COURSE, he turned around and caught her staring. God, she had been beyond mortified, even more so than when he had walked in on her in the bath! Because as embarrassing as that was, it was an easy mistake, one she couldn't exactly blame him for, since she hadn't been expecting him and he had assumed she was working at the hospital. But what excuse could she offer for…blatantly staring at his arse?

 _Enough!_ Sybil gave her head a shake and sat up, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, preparing to push herself to her feet. She needed to distract herself from…whatever was going through her mind right now. And Tom, from the sound of things, was in his room, so it was perfectly safe to take her cold cup of tea to the sink, and grab her book from the bathroom—

Heat flooded Sybil's cheeks as she recalled her abandoned book. She had just gotten to "the good part", where the two lovers were meeting in secret, in a laundry closet of all places, and they were desperate for one another, and the hero needed her, needed to give the heroine pleasure, needing that more than his own (clearly a work of fiction, right there), and had just snaked his hand beneath her skirts and between her legs, capturing her moans with his hungry mouth—

Sybil clamped a hand over her own mouth. Did she just…?

All the while this was happening, the hero was pressing his body against the heroine, his arousal more than obvious, and now, of course, Sybil's mind was once again taking a leisurely swim through the gutter, as she recalled her flatmate's body, and…

Sybil closed her eyes and took a great gulp of the cold tea, her face contorting in disgust, but her mind and body grateful for the…distraction. Food, that would help. A snack always did the trick when she needed to take her mind off something. And even though she had vowed not to pick up another text book until the New Year, was there really any harm in getting a jump start on her second semester classes?

 _I can't believe this; it's Christmas Eve and I'm actually contemplating on studying._ Yes, but it seemed to be a good, sobering solution to distracting thoughts. No, not "distracting", though they were that, but _UNWANTED_ thoughts! Tom was her flatmate, her friend, and…and that was all! He was his own person, and…and not something for her to objectify or…or fantasize—NO! No, she wasn't even going to finish that train of thought, because…just no!

She took another gulp of cold tea, before finally standing and moving purposefully towards her door. However, upon reaching it, she quietly opened it and tentatively poked her head out, just to make extra sure he wasn't sitting on the couch and reading, as he sometimes did.

No, the room was dark; even her little Christmas tree had been unplugged.

Sybil rolled her eyes. The tree and how long it should remain plugged in was a sensitive subject between herself and her flatmate. Tom didn't like that Sybil sometimes left it plugged in when no one was around, but she didn't like it when he would just randomly go up to it and unplug it, even when she was in the room with it. He'd argue that it had been plugged in for six straight hours, and she'd argue that he was exaggerating, and then he would insist that he wasn't, that she had plugged it as early as four, and she would argue and say, _"well that's when it gets dark outside!",_ and they still had yet to reach a compromise. And…alright, so Tom was the last person up, so she supposed she couldn't get too annoyed with him for unplugging the tree, HOWEVER…it _was_ Christmas Eve, and the tree always remained lit throughout the entire night. Or at least Sybil believed it should.

Somehow, these present thoughts about Tom were helping Sybil with overcoming her previous ones. Good, _this_ was the Tom she needed to remember, the stubborn man who was frightfully full of himself. She found herself smiling, and with a bit of a mischievous grin, marched over to the tree and plugged it in, her smile only widening further as it once again illuminated the little corner of their flat.

Sybil folded her arms across her chest and gave a proud nod to the tree, before turning her attention now to the windows, noticing how ice crystals were forming on the glass. Still, she could see enough of the world outside, the huge, fat snowflakes that were carpeting the streets below. Sybil shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. Oh, she hoped everyone out there had managed to find shelter of some kind. And…in all seriousness, while she was sad Tom was unable to make his flight, she was glad he wasn't in the middle of this mess, be that in the sky, or stuck at the airport.

Now, her thoughts were warming to him again, though these were not "lustful" thoughts as she had been having earlier. Sybil's smile grew tender as she thought of her flatmate and friend, and a strange, comforting warmth began to spread as she thought about spending Christmas Day with him tomorrow. Tom wasn't a self-proclaimed Whovian the way Sybil was, but he did enjoy the show enough; perhaps he would like to join her with her Christmas-themed _Doctor Who_ marathon tomorrow? And she would make those gingersnaps; she grinned as she recalled the way his eyes had lit up when she mentioned them. And she'd make that fry-up again, she knew she could do it this time without setting off the smoke detector—

The lights on the tree blinked for a second…then blinked again…and then…went out completely.

Sybil frowned. Surely they couldn't have burned out? She bent down to inspect the outlet, thinking perhaps the cord had fallen away from the plug, but…no, they were still plugged in. Sybil's hand moved to a lamp, flicked the switch to get a better inspection—

Nothing.

 _Oh no._

She flicked that switch on and off at least three times, but just like her Christmas tree, it too remained dark.

A shiver coursed through her body and her arms instinctively wrapped around her. _This is bad…_

"Tom!"

Her eyes moved back to the windows and another shiver ran down her spine as she watched the ice crystals form. "Tom!" she called again.

She heard him stumble, and then curse, and then mutter, _"what the hell!?",_ which no doubt meant he had just tried to turn on his lights and discovered that nothing was happening. Finally, the door to his room opened, and he gracelessly emerged, eyes narrowed in an effort to see in the dark.

"Syb, what's going on?" he questioned. Despite what he no doubt knew already, he still reached for a lamp.

"The power's gone," she told him, hugging herself a little tighter.

Even though she could barely see his face, she could tell that his eyes had widened at her words.

"Gone?" he repeated, still fiddling with the light switch.

Sybil rolled her eyes. "Stop that," she groaned. "Yes, it's gone, it's out—the electricity, the heat—"

"When did it happen?"

"Just now!" she exclaimed. "I had just plugged the tree back in—"

"You plugged the tree back in!?" Tom interrupted, his voice going from confused to irritated. _"WHY_ would you plug the tree back in!?"

Sybil stiffened at his tone. "This isn't my fault," she muttered through clipped lips.

"Your bloody tree probably blew a fuse," Tom muttered, moving away from the wall and crossing the room to the apartment door, where their flat's fuse box was kept.

Sybil's mouth hung open at the obvious accusation. "It did not!" she defended.

"You know how much power that thing sucks up?" he growled, as he tried to make his way through the dark.

"Tom, this wasn't caused by the tree! This is a _proper_ power outage—"

"FUCK!" Tom swore, tripping over something on the floor and nearly colliding with the couch. "SYBIL!"

"WHAT!?"

"My foot's tangled on something!" he snarled, and reached down to rip whatever had tripped him, off his foot. "I can't see a thing!"

"Well neither can I, so shouting isn't going to do any good!"

Tom ignored her and was trying to disentangle himself from whatever it was. "It's…clothing? Did you have a tank top lying around out here? One of the straps is stuck around my ankle."

Sybil made a face. "Why would I have a tank top…" her words faded as she realized what exactly that it was he had caught around him. "DON'T MOVE!" she ordered, and without another word, surprised them both by getting down on her hands and knees and crawling across the floor to where he was, feeling around for her bra.

"Sybil, what are you—HEY!"

"OH!" Sybil gasped, her body colliding with his leg, nearly causing him to lose his balance again.

"What are you doing!?"

"Trying to get this thing off you!" she growled.

"Trying to get me killed, more like," he muttered.

She ignored him and reached out, her hand patting the ground, trying to find—

"SYBIL!"

"What!?" She whipped her head up in irritation, and gasped when her brow made contact with his groin.

"Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck…" Tom groaned, this time not stopping himself from collapsing backwards onto the couch.

"OH!" Sybil gasped, her hands flying to her mouth and her face burning brightly in embarrassment. Oh God, she had just…head-butted him.

"Oh God, Tom, I…I'm so sorry—"

"Just give me a minute," he groaned, sucking in a breath through his teeth. She couldn't see him clearly, but she imagined his hands were protectively cupping…well, obviously.

Surely he could see her in the dark? Her face must look like a flaming red beacon. "Um…hold still," she mumbled, finding her bra at last.

"That won't be a problem," he muttered, waiting patiently as she untangled the undergarment from his foot and ankle at last. How had it ended up on the floor? Oh God, she had forgotten that she had hung her bras on the radiator to dry, after taking her laundry out. Oh God…she had forgotten that she had put her clothes in the dryer at the end of the hall! They were in there long enough, surely they got dried? But both the washer and dryer on their floor looked like something out of a Flintstone's cartoon than the latest appliance. And it wasn't uncommon for her to have to run the dryer twice in order to—

"Sybil?" Tom interrupted her thoughts. He was starting to sit up again, but she noticed that he had frozen still.

"What? What's wrong?"

"Nothing, just…um…" he swallowed. "Where's your head right now?"

She frowned. "My head? Why do—oh." Could the earth swallow her up now, please? "Um…it's alright," she assured him, backing away from him quickly, her still somewhat damp bra, wadded up in her hands.

Tom got this feet once again, and with stiff, tentative steps (she wasn't sure if that was due to the darkness or because of his "injury") he finally made it to the fuse box.

"Shit," he sighed.

"What!?" Sybil stiffened.

Tom sighed. "I need a flashlight."

"Oh…ok, um…is there one in the kitchen?" she asked, rising to her own feet once more.

"No," he sighed and looked over his shoulder back at her. "But there is one back in my bedroom."

* * *

Sybil was right; it wasn't a blown fuse, as he had hoped. After finally finding the flashlight (which was on a shelf in his closet, which naturally was the darkest part of his entire room), Tom ventured out of their flat and into the hall, knocking on the various doors of their neighbors, only finding one other person there (everyone else had gone home for Christmas) and they confirmed that their power was gone too. They also told Tom that a call had already been made to their landlord…and that it had gone straight to voicemail.

Fantastic.

"Maybe it's just temporary?" Sybil murmured, more to herself than to him. They were both in the living room, Sybil huddled on the couch with a blanket she often snuggled herself up in when she watched TV. Tom had just delivered the news about his conversation with their neighbor.

"I mean, it's not too surprising when you consider the wind and the snow…" she went on. "And I'm sure the city is aware, and already has people working on it…right?"

Highly doubtful, especially considering that it was Christmas. However, he didn't want to dash her hopes, especially since he shared them, and so mumbled back, "yeah, I'm sure you're right."

Neither of them seemed convinced.

Sybil pulled the blanket around her body a little more tightly, the gesture making Tom wish he had a blanket of his own. It hadn't taken long for the temperature in the flat to drop considerably. And it wasn't helped by the sound of the howling wind outside.

"What are we going to do?" Sybil whispered after a long pause.

Tom looked at his flatmate, his vision having now adapted to the darkness of the room. Despite her earlier attempts at trying to be optimistic, she now sounded quite worried, frightened even. Something squeezed inside his chest, and moved away from where he was standing and calmly approached the couch.

"We can't do anything until morning," he reasoned. "By then the storm will have passed, so…so if worse comes to worse, we'll…" he was going to suggest that they would find a hotel somewhere, but the very idea of the suggestion caused his face to warm and his heartbeat to quicken.

 _Why? It's not like you're suggesting that the both of you…_

He shifted a little uncomfortably from where he stood.

The rational part of his brain (the part that thankfully didn't seem to be ruled by his penis), argued (rationally) that they might have a difficult time, finding a hotel that could take them in. Not to mention he didn't know of any hotels close by, and the fact that they would have to find some form of working transportation to get them to one…

"Like you said," he broke the silence at last. "I'm sure someone somewhere is working on the problem, and by morning, we'll have the power back."

Sybil tugged her blanket even tighter to her body. "Morning seems like such a long way off…"

Indeed, it did. And judging from how cold they were both already feeling, it was going to be a long night.

"We'll just have to layer up," Tom announced. "And…try to get some sleep." Because really, what else could they do?

Sybil looked at him as if he were mad (yes, he could tell that, despite the darkness). _"Sleep!?"_ she all but squeaked.

Tom nodded his head. "Aye, what else can we do?" They had no power, what else could be done other than sleep?

Heat flooded his face as a different sort of answer filled his head. Right before he had left for America, Kieran and his wife had had another baby, one which Kieran liked to proudly tease was the result of cold, winter's night, when they too had lost power. _"Because what else is there to do?"_ Kieran had barked with laughter, before being swatted across the chest by his wife.

Of course, the thought of pregnancy had a bit of a sobering impact on Tom's recent lustful thoughts, to which he was rather grateful. _Honestly, what the hell is wrong with me?_

"What about you?"

He hadn't realized Sybil had been speaking to him. Tom blinked and looked back at her with confusion. "What about me?"

Sybil groaned and he swore she had rolled her eyes at him. "I pointed out the fact that your room faces north."

His brow furrowed. "Aye…?" What was she getting at? Whatever it was, it seemed quite obvious to her.

"Tom…that's the coldest side of the building!" And the wind was directly hitting it.

Tom swallowed and looked out the window, though there wasn't much to see, due to the thick ice crystals that had formed across the glass. But the sound of the wind was enough to make him realize that she wasn't wrong.

"I'll be fine," he muttered, more to himself than to her.

"Tom…"

"I'll be fine," he repeated, forcing a smile though he wondered if she could even see it. Yet even if she did, she'd probably not believe him, after all, she wasn't stupid. "I will," he repeated once more, determination in his voice. "Like I suggested earlier, I'll just layer up, throw on an extra blanket—"

"You don't have an extra blanket."

She was right, he didn't, but she didn't have to know that. "Sure I do," he lied. He wasn't exactly sure why he was lying, but he didn't want her to worry about him, which was clearly what she was doing. He certainly didn't want her to suggest that he take a blanket from her.

Tom could see that Sybil was frowning, and without warning, she rose from the couch, and with body still cocooned by the blanket, marched (as best as she could) across the living room, until she reached his bedroom door. "Hey—" But she ignored him and pushed herself right in.

"Oh my God!" Sybil gasped, and Tom's own eyes widened as a cloud of air could be visibly seen escaping her lips.

"It's like a freezer!" she gasped, and just as quickly, shuffled herself out of the room. "You're not sleeping in there."

Tom's eyes widened at her announcement. "Syb…it's my room—"

"It's a meat locker!"

"You're exaggerating," he groaned.

"Hardly," she snorted. "Tom, you'll freeze if you sleep in there!"

"Well where else am I supposed to sleep?" he retorted, and then realization began to dawn on him as he noticed the way her own eyes immediately fell to the ground, in an almost bashful manner. He also realized then just how close they were both standing…

She can't be seriously suggesting that I…that we…

"Fine," he somehow managed to croak.

Sybil's eyes snapped back to his. "Fine?" she repeated, her own voice a squeak.

Tom didn't look at her; instead he stepped into his room to grab the duvet from his bed. _It might be a good thing that it's so cold…_

"I'll sleep on the couch," he told her, trying to keep his teeth from chattering as he spoke. He turned around to face her after grabbing the duvet and pillow, and…was it his imagination? She looked disappointed…

 _No, that's YOUR sick, twisted imagination,_ he chastised.

"Well…good," Sybil finally mumbled, pulling the blanket around her shoulders even tighter. "Good," she repeated. "I feel much better, knowing that you won't freeze to death in your room."

Tom rolled his eyes, but he couldn't help but chuckle just a little bit. "I'm moved by your concern," he teased. "Although I don't know…I mean, isn't there that urban legend that should one's flatmate dies, they pass all their courses for the semester?"

Now it was Sybil who was rolling her eyes. "That's not funny," she muttered, trying to quickly squash the bubble of laughter that attempted to escape her throat. "Besides, the semester is already over."

He did laugh at that, as did she, and just like that, things felt right between them, or rather, "normal" again.

"But will you be warm enough out there?" Sybil asked, genuine concern returning to her voice.

"I will," he assured her. _I have to be, because the only other alternative…well, there is no other alternative,_ he told himself. "I'll be fine," he promised, before settling himself down on the couch and tucking the blanket around him.

Sybil still didn't look convinced, and before he could say anything, she removed the blanket she had wrapped around her and quickly laid it over his body.

"Syb, I'm fine, you don't—"

"Just hush and accept it," she ordered in a manner that Tom wouldn't dream of arguing. _Dr. Crawley is in the house,_ he mused.

She tucked the blanket around him, like properly tucked it into the couch cushions, to the point where he could barely move.

"Syb, I appreciate this," he muttered as he tried to loosen his legs a bit. "But…I think it's too—"

"If I ever do meet your mother someday," she interrupted, moving up from his feet to his shoulders, and tucking those ends thoroughly into the couch cushions. "I'll have to ask her if you were this difficult when you were a child."

A smile spread across his face as he imagined that scenario. It should terrify him, the thought of Sybil and his mother talking about him, exchanging stories, trying to make him blush, and most likely succeeding—

Why was he thinking about this?

Sybil wasn't his…his girlfriend. She was his flatmate—alright, more than that, she was his friend, a good friend, he liked to think, but even so…

However, what was so wrong with a friend (no matter their gender) meeting with one's mother? He knew he had friends back in Dublin who liked to try and get under his skin by teasing him along with other members of his family, how was this any different?

Maybe because you haven't told your mother that "Simon" is in fact, "Sybil"? And for all the arguing he had done about this being the 21st century and that a man and a woman could live together without any sort of expectation or agenda, seemed to mean very little when admitted that he hadn't told his mother the truth about his flatmate because he knew that his mother would frown upon the idea. A man and a woman living together who weren't related or married…she'd cross herself and light several candles to the saints if she knew the truth.

Or was that simply the excuse Tom gave, as to why he hadn't told his mother, or anyone back in Ireland, about Sybil?

"Tom?"

He looked up and held his breath; her face was hovering close, and despite the darkness, he could see her eyes quite clearly. Had he noticed before, how deep and blue her eyes were? Or how lush and pink her lips looked? Yes.

"Tom?"

He swallowed. "Sorry, I…" he tried to move his head slightly, and frowned as he realized the blanket was tucked to just under his chin. "Syb, I can't move."

She looked rather pleased at this. "That's the point; this way your body heat will keep you snug and warm—"

"And instead of hypothermia, I'll die from hyperthermia," he groaned, trying to, at the very least, wriggle his arms free.

"Stop that!" she admonished as he struggled against her work.

"Sybil, this is ridiculous, I…I look like a burrito."

She had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. "You…you do not," she tried to argue, though he could see the merriment dance in her eyes, and hear a bubble of that laughter escape her throat, despite her efforts.

"At least let me keep my arms free," he muttered, trying to sound stern, when he couldn't help but grin a little as he listened to her. "I don't want to be trapped here, in case I need to use the toilet in the night."

"Oh, fine," she groaned, and leaned over him to help loosen the blanket around his shoulders.

Her hair fell across his face, tickling his skin. She smelled like peppermint. She was close again, his eyes were drawn to her lips, and he couldn't help but wet his own, as he found himself imagining what they tasted like…

He tried to tear himself away from such thoughts, and made the terrible mistake of lowering his eyes, only to find himself looking down the slight open gap of her pajama top, offering him the delectable glance of the slopes of her breasts…

…He remembered how they rose above the water in the bath, round and full, a little bigger than he had imagined, creamy-colored, and crowned with dark, pink nipples, glistening with peppermint-scented suds…

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to make the image go away, praying that the tightness of the blanket would prevent certain things from responding, or at the very least, from being noticed—

"Alright, is that satisfactory?"

Tom opened his eyes. She was leaning away from him now, and sitting up straight. He was both relieved, and disappointed.

"Are you alright?" she asked, frowning. "You look as if you're in some kind of pain…"

"I'm fine," he quickly assured. "Fine, just…glad I have some circulation back in my arms."

She rolled her eyes, but laughed, seeming to buy his explanation.

"Well, don't complain to me if you get cold in the night," she muttered, before rising from the couch completely.

"I doubt that," he muttered back. Thanks to the thoughts running through his mind, cold was the furthest thing he would be feeling. He pushed thoughts aside (as best as he could) and instead, focused on her. "Will you be warm enough?"

She nodded her head, though he did notice how she was hugging herself. "I have a nice, thick jumper, and my duvet is heavier than yours," she reasoned.

Fair enough. "But who's going to tuck you in?" he couldn't help but tease.

"Ha, ha," Sybil groaned, but she did giggle too, although was unable to mask her shiver.

"Alright, I'm fine, Dr. Crawley, but go take care of yourself, before YOU freeze to death."

"Yes sir, Prof. Branson," Sybil mock-saluted, before turning to go…and then paused, and looked back at him.

"What?" Had she forgotten something? Why was she—?

All thought left him as she lowered her head and brushed her lips against his brow. "Goodnight," she whispered, before rising to her full height once more, and before he could reply, retreated quickly to her own room and shut the door.

Tom swallowed, his skin tingling where her lips had touched. _That was a first._ "Goodnight," he whispered back, though he doubted she could hear him. How could anyone hear him right now? Surely the beat of his heart was drowning everything else out…

 _To be continued..._


	3. Christmas Morning

_Hello again! Well, while it's getting chillier outside, things are starting to heat up for our favs here ;o) that's all I'm going to say. Thank you again for reading! Hope you enjoy!_

* * *

 _CHRISTMAS MORNING_

As the winter sky around Chicago began to lighten, it revealed a city blanketed by a good, heavy, thick layer of snow, several inches thick. To look at it would cause one to shiver, especially one who didn't have any heat in their apartment. But Sybil Crawley didn't feel the cold where she was. If truth be told, she felt the most wonderful warmth, the kind you didn't want to leave, the kind that felt so comforting and familiar. Her eyes flickered open from what she could only describe as a "perfect slumber", something she honestly couldn't recall when she had last experienced—or EVER experienced, really. But when she awoke, she actually _purred_ , so refreshed and comfortable, so—

Sybil froze.

Something had moved.

Something that wasn't…her.

She stopped breathing as she felt something strong and…muscular…curl around her waist, seeming to pull her closer, and then she bit back a gasp as she heard a muffled moan of contentment, followed by the feel of a nose and stumbled chin _burrowing_ against the back of her neck, breathing in the scent of her hair and skin.

Her mind flew to the night before. No, she hadn't gone to bed drunk and taken some stranger with her…no, last night was Christmas Eve, Tom had come back to the flat, his flight canceled due to the weather. They had lost power, they had no heat, and his room was like a freezer. She had argued that he couldn't sleep in there, and convinced him to take the couch, going so far as to tuck him in to the point where he could barely move his limbs. And…and she had kissed him. Nothing like that, but she had kissed him on the forehead, before murmuring "goodnight", and retreating to her room once again (she seemed to be doing that a lot lately). So…if Tom was out in the living room, tucked in on the couch, then…then who…?

The door of her room was ajar, and it faced the living room. There was just enough light coming in through the windows to help her see the abandoned couch…

Oh God. He…he was in her room. HE WAS IN HER BED!

 _WITH HER!_

When had he…how did he…WHY WAS HE…

Her breath caught in her throat as she felt him shift behind her. The arm that was wrapped around her waist was drawing her closer again, and Sybil bit her lip at the feel of his broad, muscular chest, pressed firmly against her back.

A moan was lodged somewhere in her throat. God, he felt…good. Sybil was no blushing virgin, but at the same time, she had little experience of waking up so pleasantly with someone else. Most of the men she had shared a bed with were only interested in the activity that was the opposite of sleeping, and while they had come to "sleep" with her, they had no intention of staying to _sleep_ with her.

…Which was fine with Sybil, as she wasn't looking for anything serious beyond a good shag (or a semi-decent shag, as was often the reality). But she had sometimes wondered…or perhaps imagined…what it would be like to just…be held like this…as if the man beside you didn't want to lose contact with you, even in sleep.

 _Woah! Are you forgetting something? This is_ TOM _, not some…random bloke you've decided to take to bed. He's your flatmate, your friend,_ nothing _more—_ OH MY GOD!

Tom had not only unconsciously pulled her close to his chest, but was also bringing his body closer to hers…in particular, the "lower portion" of his body, where it was impossible to ignore a certain piece of anatomy.

 _Good God, he's_ huge! _Not to mention as hard as a rock!_ Indeed, very little was being left to the imagination.

Sybil didn't know what to do. A part of her screamed to wake him up, to end this awkward moment then and there before the pair of them were embarrassed further. But at the same time, she knew that…well…guys couldn't exactly help that their bodies got _that way_ early in the morning; surely there was a way to…to dislodge herself without having to call attention to the hard-on that was presently pressed against rump.

But the other part of her wasn't ready to let him go (or, to be let go by him, in this particular instance). For as awkward and embarrassing as this situation was…heaven help her, she liked it.

 _You just like feeling wanted and needed,_ a mindful voice chastised. _This has nothing to do with poor Tom._

Sybil couldn't help but snort at that. Poor Tom, indeed. How had he ended up in her bed again? She was trying her best to remember everything that had taken place last night, especially after she had kissed his forehead and run away like the cowardly lion, but…damn, he was making it hard for her concentrate right now, especially when she felt his hips shift against her, and—OH!

A gasp escaped her mouth as his hand, the one that had been wrapped around her waist, stirred…and moved upward, before sleepily settling over her left breast.

A sleepy groan escaped his throat, and she held her breath as she felt his face burrow further against her hair, his lips coming into contact with the nape of her neck.

Her eyes fluttered shut at the sensation of his lips, sleepily kissing the back of her neck, then moving to run along the line of skin that connected her neck and her shoulder.

She was still in her pajamas (whatever had happened last night, hadn't progressed to _that_ , at least), and the prickly stubble of his chin soon came into contact with the flannel fabric, thus preventing him from continuing to kiss the skin of her shoulder. The same was also true for the hand that was presently atop her breast; the flannel of her pajama top was preventing him from feeling everything…which, Sybil couldn't deny, rather disappointed her.

 _You really are just some…some…pathetic, sex-starved, pervert—you're terrible, Sybil Crawley, absolutely terrible for thinking about your friend like this, for…for reducing him to nothing more than a living, breathing dildo—_

A whimper escaped her lips as his thumb circled her nipple. The whimper was followed by a pant as his thumb moved back and forth across it, lazily flicking it, and despite the layer of fabric, hardening it and making her ache.

That ache wasn't limited to her breasts. It quickly spread, shooting straight to her core, causing her thighs to squeeze tightly and her body to throb.

 _You have to stop this, you need to stop this, you SHOULD be stopping this!_ But she wasn't.

Another moan escaped her mouth as he squeezed her breast and his hips rocked against her body, practically thrusting his groin against her. And before she realized what she was doing, she responded to the motion, grinding her arse against him.

Which apparently, did the trick, in finally waking him up.

"Wha…?" Tom groaned, his voice a mixture of confusion and arousal.

Sybil stiffened, and she squeezed her eyes closed and pressed her lips together, willing herself to just disappear.

She couldn't see Tom's face in that moment, but she didn't have to. She could easily imagine his confused expression, as it was no doubt similar to the one she had worn when she had first woken up. But it was what she knew that would follow, that had her wishing a giant hole would just swallow her up.

His body stiffened (and not in that surprising and rather "pleasant" manner that had awoken Sybil). Whereas in his sleep he had drawn her closer to him, now he was trying to inch himself away from her as quickly as possible. And the hand that had drifted up to her breast went rigid as well; his fingers splaying widely, before leaping off her chest as if he had been burned. "Oh God," she heard him mutter, and she winced at the horror and embarrassment she could hear in his voice. "No, oh please, God, no…" he whispered to himself as he tried to "carefully" push his body away from hers. "Fecking hell, what is wrong with me!"

Sybil's eyes snapped open at hearing it. It wasn't so much the words he used, but the devastation she could hear in his voice. It occurred to her then that he had leapt to the conclusion that he had "taken advantage" of her, believing that she had been asleep the entire time he had groped her. For all she knew, he possibly believed she was still asleep right now! She hadn't said anything, she hadn't even moved—was she even breathing at this point? _Say something_ , a voice inside her urged. But say what? _"Oh, don't worry; while yes, you were asleep when you unconsciously began to feel me up, the truth is, I was already awake and loved every second of it."_ That was even worse!

The sudden disappearance of the warm body behind her, coupled with a curse and the sound of a great thud on floor next to her bed, finally had Sybil moving. She sat up and turned, scrambling over to the other side of the bed where Tom had apparently rolled off, in his efforts to put some distance between them.

"Tom!" she gasped, remembering all too well the nasty tumble he had taken in the bathroom the previous night. "Are you—?"

"Fine!" he grunted from the floor. He was already on his hands and knees, and not too surprisingly, he was avoiding her eyes. "Fine," he repeated, and Sybil wasn't sure if he was going to stand up or attempt to crawl away. Instead, he lifted his head from where he was kneeling and made a face, before muttering, "Feck, it's freezing!"

It was at that moment Sybil seemed to realize the cold as well. Her warm bed partner was gone, and while the blankets which had cocooned them still held a great deal of their body heat, it seemed to be fading quickly without him, and for the first time that morning, the shiver that ran down her body had nothing to do with sexual desire.

The cold. _Now_ she remembered.

" _T-T-Tom?"_

 _She didn't want to get out of her bed, not that staying in it was doing her a great deal of good. She had put on two pairs of thick, woolen socks, plus a thick Northwestern University jumper over her flannel pajamas, in addition to the second blanket she had thrown over her duvet, and yet still, she was shivering. And if_ she _was feeling the cold, despite the many layers that covered her, how was poor Tom managing?_

" _Sybil?"_

 _She had been about to force herself to rise and go and check on him, but paused and gasped when she realized that not only had he answered her, but he was now standing in the doorway of her room. It was too dark, she couldn't see his face, but judging from the way he had spoken her name, he sounded alert, as well as concerned._

" _What's wrong?" he asked her, the concern rising in his voice. "Sybil?"_

" _S-s-sorry," she apologized for any alarm she had caused him. "I…I was j-just w-w-worried—"_

" _Sybil?" he interrupted, and carefully entered her room, feeling along her wall. "Are you alright? Why are talking like that?" He seemed to realize then the reason. "Are you shivering?"_

" _Aren't you?" she retorted, burrowing even further under her cold blankets. "C-c-careful!" she started to warn him as she watched him approach, wincing when she heard him curse when his leg ran into her desk, just on the other side of her bed._

" _I think I heard your teeth chattering all the way out in the living room," he muttered as he angled himself around her desk._

" _W-w-what about you?" she turned the concern back onto him. Yes, she was cold—bloody freezing, to be precise—but at least she had multiple blankets (not they were doing her much good), but still, it was more than what he had had. "Aren't you f-freezing?"_

" _Aye," he answered without hesitation. "Or I am now."_

 _That surprised Sybil. "Only just n-now?"_

" _Aye," he answered again. "You see, this amazing doctor I know had tucked me in so tight, it was impossible to feel the cold."_

 _She couldn't see his grin, but she could feel it. And despite her shivering and teeth-chattering, she was grinning back too. Not to mention blushing._ Amazing? Really? _"Y-y-y-you'll have t-to introduce me t-to her s-s-some t-time."_

 _The amusement that had been in his voice just now disappeared, concern filling it once again. "Sybil, how long have you been shivering like this?"_

" _D-d-don't know," she admitted. "A while."_

" _A while," Tom repeated. He drew closer to the bed, and Sybil's eyes widened as she felt the bed dip just slightly, realizing that he was sitting on the edge, just next to her. "May I?"_

 _She thought he meant "sitting down" on her bed, which he was already doing, so she nodded, and then realizing he probably couldn't see her, affirmed, "yes", but her breath caught in her throat when she felt his hand—large and amazingly warm—find her own._

" _Jesus," he swore, and then she felt his other hand joining the first, both of his hands now cradling hers, and then rubbing her icy cold fingers._

 _Heat began to flow through her, and not just in her fingers._

" _Give me your other hand," he told her, still holding her first. There was a soft demand to his voice, but it didn't bother or offend her. It was spoken out of concern, and in some ways, reminded Sybil of herself, especially when she got into her "Doctor Crawley" mode. Tom now held both of her hands, and between his palms, rubbed warmth and feeling back into her poor, frozen fingers._

 _She was grateful for the darkness, grateful that he couldn't see the effect he was having on her right now, though she wondered for how long, because surely the blush in her cheek would start glowing like Rudolph's shining red nose? This wasn't the first time she and Tom had touched one another's hands. They had shaken hands upon their first meeting, given each other appreciative "high-fives" and friendly "pats" on the back of one's hand, and even briefly squeezed each other's hands as a sign of support during their tumultuous first semester in their respective fields, but…none of those touches ever lingered, at least not long enough for Sybil to truly get a_ feel _of his hands…_

 _Big, yes, and obviously warm; rough too, the skin calloused and scarred from manual labor (Tom loved "tinkering" with engines, and had worked in a garage back in Dublin), but not unpleasant feeling._

 _No…not unpleasant feeling at all. And her imagination began to wander down a path she knew that it shouldn't, but she couldn't help herself…_

… _What would those hands feel like on_ other _parts of her anatomy?_

" _Better?"_

 _Her eyes snapped up to his, and she sucked in a breath as she realized now, how close they were. Yes, it was dark, but despite it, she could see the outline of his face, the shape of his mouth, and his eyes…God, his eyes were so deep and his gaze so penetrating…_

" _Y-yes," she squeaked, and then coughed, before repeating herself with a bit more confidence, "yes."_

 _Tom's head lowered, and from what she could tell, he seemed to be looking down towards the foot of her bed. "What about your toes?" he asked._

 _Oh God, was he going to now offer to rub her feet? "I have two pairs of socks on," she told him, as if that answered the question._

" _Aye, and you have at least two-three blankets covering you, and yet you were_ still _shivering—"_

" _Well what about you?" Sybil interrupted. That was why she had called out to him, not for her own comfort (though she was grateful to him) but out of concern for his. "You only had the one blanket, and I don't care how well I tucked you in, it was still just…the one…" her voice trailed off, because in the midst of her chatter, she had reached out to touch his shoulder, as if to somehow prove her point that_ he _was the one suffering from the cold…only to be met with naked skin…_

 _He wasn't wearing a shirt?_

 _"W-where…?" her hand slid down from his shoulder, to his muscled bicep. The Henley he normally wore to bed, the Henley which she had seen him wearing earlier, which he had still been wearing when she had tucked him on the couch, was gone. Why had he taken it off? While she was throwing on multiple layers, he was stripping down! Oh God…was he wasn't naked, surely? But had he removed his track bottoms, and was sitting on her bed, rubbing her hands, wanting to possibly rub her toes next, ONLY IN BOXERS!?_

 _He seemed to realize what she was asking (by some miracle). "I um…I took it off," he explained, and only then did Sybil realize that her hand was lingering on his arm. She quickly released him, as if she had been scalded by his skin (and she very well might have been.)_

 _Indeed, if he wanted to warm her hands, perhaps he should have just placed them on his naked chest?_

 _Sybil had only seen Tom shirtless twice. Once, when he was coming out of the shower, and she was coming out of her room (planning to go and take a shower herself) and they had an awkward "dance" of trying to get around one another in the little narrow hallway, resulting in embarrassed laughter and mumbled apologies. Sybil remembered how her eyes had widened as she had looked up at him then. Tom wasn't the tallest man that she knew, he wasn't even a full six feet, but after nearly running into him, she realized he was much taller than she had thought, especially when standing right next to him like that. And she also had a better appreciation for the breadth of his body, too—he was broad-shouldered and broad-chested, and she knew he liked run and work out a few times during the week, but…she had no idea just how fit he was until she almost had a head-on collision with a wall of muscle and skin. She tried not to stare at his back as he walked away, tried not to follow the drops of water that slid down his neck, between his shoulder-blades, down his spine, before disappearing beneath the waistband of the bath towel that was snuggly wrapped around his waist, displaying his arse—_

 _The shower she had taken had been a rather cool one, needless to say._

 _That was one incident. The other had been earlier that night, when he had unknowingly walked in on her in the tub. Her own embarrassment at being caught naked, as well as her concern after he had fallen, had superseded any lustful thoughts that may have taken root at seeing him in such a state._

 _…Well, almost._

 _"Like I said," he chuckled, bringing her back to the present. "You did a really good job, keeping that cold air out—perhaps too good of a job, because I was starting to sweat."_

 _And now she was, at least figuratively. Her throat certainly seemed a bit parched at the moment._

 _"Maybe I…" he stood up then, and Sybil immediately missed feeling his weight (and presence) upon the bed. "Um…I'm not expert, but…I could try to tuck you in as you tucked me in?" he offered._

Oh yes, tuck me in, please…

 _She shook her head, appalled by such thoughts. Something was truly wrong with her; her hormones were off balance or…or something._

 _"But if you tuck me in, who's going to tuck you in?" she countered. "And you only have the one blanket, so if anyone needs to be 'tucked in' properly, it's you."_

 _Tom groaned. "Are we really going to argue the semantics of who's tucking who in?"_

 _He had a point. At this rate, they'd both freeze to death before morning. Which meant there was only one other solution…_

 _"Get in," she found herself saying, surprising herself by how blunt and direct she sounded, not to mention determined. But she had to be, otherwise she'd lose her courage (and her hormones would run amok)._

 _"Get in?" Tom repeated, sounding very confused. "What do you—"_

 _"The couch won't fit the both of us, so my bed will have to do."_

 _If that was clear enough, she didn't know what was._

 _Silence filled her room then, broken every once in a while by what sounded like Tom swallowing a rather large lump in his throat._

 _"Y-y-your bed?" he finally murmured at long last, his own voice trembling as hers had done earlier._

 _Lord, her face was no doubt glowing. And darkness or no, she couldn't look at him. "Yes, of course," she answered, her voice sounding far more confident than she felt. "Instead of spending the rest of the night arguing over blankets, we should just…share the bed and rely on our own body heat to keep us warm."_

 _And there was little fear of freezing then, downright impossible. Just the thought of Tom's body next to hers…his muscular chest—muscular BARE chest, spooning her back…_

 _On second thought, maybe some cold air would do her some good?_

 _"Um…alright," he murmured, breaking the awkward silence that had sprung up at her suggestion. "I s-s-suppose that makes s-sense," he stammered, before coughing and clearing his throat._

 _Sybil was mortified with herself. She could only imagine what Tom was thinking, and no doubt he found this entire thing strange and probably off-putting, especially considering how strangely she had been acting._ And if he only knew what was going on inside your perverted mind…

 _The bed dipped then and Sybil gasped as she realized that he was actually climbing in!_

GET A GRIP ON YOURSELF! _Indeed, she was acting like a horny teenager, not a twenty-three, almost twenty-four year old woman who was studying to become a doctor. She needed to approach this whole thing from a medical perspective; think like the doctor she was hoping to be someday. It was simply logical for them to be doing this, sharing a bed to keep warm. And that's all they were doing! Sleeping side by side—_ literally _sleeping together, nothing more. And why would there be anything more? This was_ Tom _, her friend, her flatmate…who her family believed was an Irish girl named Tonya._

 _Ah, but there was logic in that as well. It had been very difficult to get her parents to accept her decision to go to school in the US, especially after they learned that she wasn't going to a school in New York or New England or anywhere that was close to her American grandmother. Sybil wanted to fully "strike out" on her own, really have some independence…and if they knew she was living with some man, well, who knew what her father would do. For the first three weeks of the semester, Sybil had lived in a semi-state of paranoia, expecting to come back to the flat and find him there, giving her that "I'm so disappointed in you" look (which she knew she had helped him perfect over the years), before revealing that he had had her followed by private investigators and he knew all about her flatmate, the very MALE "Tonya"._

 _"Um, Sybil?"_

 _She was shaken from her thoughts and felt her body go stiff as she felt Tom's breath near her ear._

 _"Is it possible that you could…move over a bit?"_

 _Red-faced, Sybil nodded her head, and scooted over as he had requested, all the while, with her back to him. She was trying to settle back into her spot, when she heard him mumble, "Um…can you move a little more?"_

 _Sybil's eyebrows lifted at this. "How much more?"_

 _"Well, I'm kind of teetering on the edge here."_

 _She sat up, smacking him in the face with her blankets as she did so. "You're fine," she told him, studying where he was, and his proximity to the edge of the bed._

 _Tom pushed her blanket down and gave her a look. "Oh, well thank you for your opinion there, Dr. Crawley, but my arse is practically hanging off!"_

 _"Well, maybe you shouldn't work out so much?"_

 _She couldn't help but secretly grin at her cheekiness, before settling down on her side of the bed._

 _"Work out so much…?" he started to repeat, before sitting up himself, smacking HER face with the blankets._

 _"Hey!"_

 _"What is that supposed to mean?" he demanded._

 _Sybil pushed the blanket down and rolled her eyes. "It's not my fault that your arse is too big," she muttered._

 _There was a pause, and Tom asked, "You think I have a big arse?"_

 _She found herself grinning and was unable to contain her giggle. "I think you ARE a big arse."_

 _Another pause, and then she squealed at the feeling of Tom pinching her side. "Ouch! Hey, you—HEY!" He was pushing her closer to the other edge of the bed._

 _"Move over," he grunted, continuing to push._

 _"YOU move over!" she pushed back against him._

 _"I can't, Syb, I told you, I'm on the edge!"_

 _"Yeah, you and your big arse—OUCH!" He pinched her again._

 _"My arse isn't_ that _big," he muttered. "And what does that mean, anyway, 'I shouldn't work out so much'?"_

 _"Well, maybe if you didn't, your arse wouldn't be so big?"_

 _"How does that make_ any _sense? How does one's arse get bigger from working out?"_

 _"Muscle is denser than fat, therefore people with greater muscle mass weigh more, right?" Sybil carefully explained. "Same can be applied to one's arse, if he or she works out on a regular basis and does muscle-building exercises, as I know you do."_

 _She knew the entire conversation was ridiculous, but at the same time, she was enjoying it, and at the moment, felt she had the upper hand in terms of cheeky answers, but Tom got one better on her, when he casually asked, "So you've been checking out my arse?"_

 _Sybil felt a rush of blood flood her face. "W-what? NO!" she all too quickly protested, which resulted in a big laugh from him. Sybil groaned and tried to flip herself over to face him, but he was once again, trying to move her over._

 _"Stop that!" Sybil muttered._

 _"Come on, seriously, move over."_

 _"I can't!" she growled. "I'm practically pressed up against the wall!"_

 _"You are not," Tom muttered, now apparently hogging some of her bedcovers. "Look, there's plenty of space!" he pointed._

 _"No, there isn't—and stop stealing the covers!"_

 _"How can I steal them when you have a majority of them?" He started to tug on one of the blankets and Sybil tugged back. She also pushed back against him, and Tom nearly toppled out of the bed._

 _"SYB!" he growled, and now she was the one who was laughing. "Oh, you think that's funny, huh?"_

 _Before she could answer, he was pushing her again, while tugging on her blanket at the same time. "NO!" Sybil gasped, grabbing hold of the blanket and pulling it back, while responding to his push and pushing back against him. They continued doing this, "fighting" over mattress space and bed clothes, all the while laughing and "threatening" the other, until they were both out of breath._

 _"This was your idea," he growled again, pushing against her one more time._

 _"And it's MY bed, therefore MY rules!" she pushed back._

 _"Oh, you have rules for your bed?" he teased, pushing again._

 _"Of course! Whatever I say, GOES!"_

 _The laughter in their throats quickly died, when Sybil's rump pushed against Tom in such a way that it rubbed against his groin, and…much to both of their shock and horror, his body responded._

 _"Oh!" Sybil gasped._

 _Tom sucked in a breath, and they both lay perfectly rigid and still._

 _No one said anything. No one dared to breathe._

 _Then suddenly, Sybil felt Tom shift, and she realized then that he was rolling over, and felt the muscular wall of his back press firmly against her own. She also felt his arse against hers, but neither one of them dared to bring the matter to attention._

 _"Good night, Sybil," she heard him mumble from his side of the bed._

 _Sybil swallowed and mumbled back, "Good night," before tugging the corner of her blankets a little closer to her body, and trying to forget the erotic sensation of feeling what was below Tom's waist…_

That was how the two of them came to be in Sybil's bed. Apparently how they had gone to bed wasn't so different to how they had woken up.

With the blankets still clutched close to her body, Sybil rose from the bed and shuffled out into the living room after Tom. "Oh my God," she gasped, her teeth immediately starting to chatter once again. "T-t-the entire flat is a f-f-freezer!"

Tom was standing by one of the windows, looking out at the streets below, the blanket she had given him the previous night (which he had left on the couch), now wrapped tightly around his own body.

"W-w-what are we g-going to do?" Sybil asked him. They couldn't stay here, not when it was this cold. Even if they both huddled together for the rest of the day, Sybil wasn't so sure they could survive another night like that.

Tom turned back to face her, the same question and concern written across his own face, but there was something else too, something in his eyes that struck her, something that looked like…shame.

"Um…" his eyes quickly looked away from her. "It's stopped snowing," he told her, his attention turning to the window again. "And they're plowing the streets right now."

Sybil bit her lip, feeling absolutely terrible. _He feels shame because he thinks he was feeling me up while I was asleep._ While it didn't sound any better, to admit and tell him that she had been awake and alert and very much aware of what was going on, she didn't want him to think that he had taken advantage of an unconscious woman, or anything of the sort.

"Tom—" she began, but was stopped by a shrill ringtone, coming from the kitchen.

They both turned their heads to the sound, and then turned and looked back at each other. They mouthed the name of their landlord, and Tom then quickly hurried over to the sound, coming from the inside the pocket of his coat, which he had flung over the back of a chair. He dug his phone out of the pocket and Sybil hovered close by, hoping against hope that it was good news, telling them that the problem was being worked on, that they would have heat and electricity in a matter of minutes—

"Mam?"

Not their landlord.

Sybil's shoulders slumped in disappointment. Well, it shouldn't be that surprising; after all, it was Christmas Day, it made perfect sense that his…mother…would want to…talk to him…

"Mum!" Sybil gasped.

* * *

 _"Who was that!?"_

Tom coughed. "Nothing, Mam—"

 _"That was another voice!"_ his mother hissed. _"A_ woman's _voice."_

Tom glanced nervously at Sybil, but she was already retreating back into her room, far enough away from where he was standing.

"It was the TV," he lied, feeling terrible for doing so, but he couldn't very well tell his mother the truth.

"SHIT!" Sybil cried from across the flat.

 _"What!?"_

"TV, Mam!" Tom quickly reminded.

 _"What on earth are you watching?"_ his mother demanded. _"And on Christmas Day!"_ she scolded.

Tom inwardly groaned.

 _"Did you boys attend Midnight Mass?"_ his mother pointedly asked next.

He had lied to his mother enough about Sybil; he had to tell her some truths every once in a while. "No, Mam, we didn't. The weather—" his mother clucked her tongue at him. "Mam, I'm serious! The weather was terrible, it took me over an hour to get back to the flat from the airport; there was no way we were going to make it to a church, even if we had walked! Besides," he added for extra measure, "I wouldn't be surprised if services were canceled due to the weather."

 _"Canceled,"_ his mother scoffed. _"No one cancels Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve."_

"I'm telling you, Mam, it was really bad—"

 _"Never mind,"_ his mother sighed, not holding back her obvious disappointment (she was very good at delivering a good guilt trip). _"So what are you boys going to be doing today to honor the birth of our Lord and Savior?"_

God, she could lay it on thick. "Probably just try to stay warm," he muttered, which wasn't far from the truth. No need to cause her worry by telling her about the loss of power or heat.

 _"Hmmm,"_ his mother grumbled on her end of the line. She surprised him then, when she said, _"let me talk to Simon."_

Tom felt his face pale. "W-w-what?" he stammered.

 _"Simon!"_ his mother repeated. _"Let me talk to him—I want to wish him a Happy Christmas."_

"I'll pass your message on to him."

 _"Oh that's not the same,"_ his mother groaned. _"Look, from what I've gathered, based on what you've told me, it sounds as if dear Simon isn't very close to his family, and this time of year can be most difficult on those individuals. So, I want him to hear another person wish him joy on Christmas Day! Is that so hard to grasp?"_

No, not at all. The problem, of course, was that Simon was Sybil, and Tom hadn't told either his mother or his flatmate the truth about the whole situation.

"Simon's in the shower, Mam," Tom lied, hating himself for doing so, but what other choice did he have?

 _"I'll wait,"_ his mother answered.

Of course she would. "Mam—"

 _"Why don't you want me to talk to your flatmate?"_

Because he's a she!

"I…" Tom fumbled over his words. What could he say? This was one lie he couldn't get away with. "It's not…it's not that I don't want you to talk to him, just…" he looked around helplessly, trying to find some kind of answer.

 _"Mam, stop bullying Tom,"_ the voice of his sister could be heard in the background.

 _"I'm not bullying him!"_ his mother defended. _"But I don't understand why I can't speak with his flatmate—"_

 _"Tommy said the bloke is in the shower!"_

 _"Are you eavesdropping on my conversations?"_

 _"Mam, it's impossible to eavesdrop on you; you talk so loudly, I'm sure the neighbors next door could hear!"_

 _"Oi, enough cheek from you, young lady,"_ his mother warned.

 _"MAM!"_ another voice was heard shouting somewhere in the background. _"MAM, SOMETHING'S WRONG WITH THE ROAST!"_

 _"Oh for God's sake,"_ his mother swore. _"Tommy, I'll have to call you back."_

Despite the crisis that was happening across the line, Tom couldn't help but smile and thank the good Lord for helping him out. "Happy Christmas, Mam!"

His mother grumbled, which only made him smile more. The call ended and Tom lowered the phone, staring down at the screen as an image of his family from last Christmas, one he had purposefully put up as wallpaper for the season, smiled back at him. They were all seated around the table, lifting their glasses and grinning at the camera, while his mother's prized roast practically sparkled in the candlelight.

His stomach growled at the thought. If his flight had gone as planned, he'd be walking through the door just about now, coming to his mother's house straight from the airport, entering that chaos, leaving no room for jetlag. And he would love every second of it…

Tom sighed and put the phone down on the kitchen table. His mother's house was warm and cozy, filled with noise and all the delicious smells of Christmas. He should be there, with them, instead of stuck here, in this freezer of a flat, with nothing to eat or drink—

Something caught his ear. He frowned, and moved across the flat, towards Sybil's room. He paused at the door, and carefully peaked inside.

She was curled up on her bed, and she was…shaking. "Sybil?" he called out to her, concern filling him and the first thought was that she was trembling due to the cold. But when she looked up at him, despite her best efforts to wipe her face, he could see that the cause for the shaking wasn't the cold, but…

She had been crying.

Tom's heart broke at the sight.

"Syb, what's wrong?" he gently asked, coming around to where she sat, kneeling down onto the floor in front of her so he could look into her eyes.

Sybil sniffled and shook her head. "N-n-nothing," she stammered, though they both knew that was a lie. Tom opened his mouth to encourage her to tell him the truth, but stopped himself when he noticed that she was clutching something, holding it tightly against her chest.

The little window in her room didn't provide the best of light, but it was enough for him to be able to make out what exactly she was holding.

Her laptop, and…a mobile?

She sniffled again, and Tom looked up at her face, which immediately began to crumple as fresh tears flowed down her cheeks.

"I…I was s-s-supposed to skype with my mum…" she tearfully explained. "I…I p-promised her."

But there was no power, and while her computer had a battery, Tom doubted that the Wi-Fi was working. It was shoddy at the best of times.

He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Have you tried to ring her?" he offered, glancing at the mobile.

Sybil gave a groan of frustration. "No," she muttered, shoving her useless forms of technology away from her. "The battery's dead."

This wasn't surprising; Sybil often forgot to charge her phone until it was too late. Another one of her "charming quirks".

He felt bad for her. And he understood what it was like, to miss one's family. "Do you want to borrow mine?" he offered, thinking of his own mobile. It should have plenty of battery, he had charged it the day before, thinking he was still flying out to Dublin at the time.

Sybil sniffled and shook her head. "Thank you, but…but if I do, they'll notice that the number isn't mine."

Tom shrugged his shoulders. "So? Just say you borrowed it from your flatmate."

But Sybil kept shaking her head. "Your name will pop up…"

Tom frowned. Ok, so his name would…pop…up…

He looked at Sybil, and understanding finally dawned on him. _They don't know about me,_ he realized. Just like his mother didn't know about Sybil. Apparently, great minds think alike…

They both lowered their eyes, feeling embarrassed, and Tom eased himself away. "Well, um…" he cleared his throat. "What time is your shift?"

Sybil looked up at him with surprise. "My shift?"

Tom nodded. "I mean, I'm not sure how exactly you're going to get to the hospital, but…well, if you go in early enough, you can take your charger, plug your phone in there, and ring them from hospital—I know it's not ideal, but it'll solve…the…problem…" his voice trailed off at the sight of her lower lip wobbling, and then his eyes filled with horror when she suddenly burst into a loud sob.

For a brief moment, he just stood there, in complete shock. Then his instincts took over, and without a second thought, he was at her side, and moving his arms around her.

Sybil didn't fight him; in fact, she burrowed herself against him, pressing her face against his shoulder and sobbing anew. Tom just tightened his hold, running his hands up and down her spine, and whispering what soothing words he could. "Sssh, it's going to be alright…don't cry, me darlin', it's going to be alright…"

But he felt her shake her head, heard her mumble a "no, it won't…" before she finally lifted her tear-stained face to look back into his eyes and confessing, "I _don't_ have a shift at the hospital."

 _To be continued..._

* * *

 _The plot thickens! :oP_


	4. Christmas Day

_This one is LONG. I just couldn't stop myself, every time I felt I got close to the end, I found there was something more I wanted to write. Ugh, I apologize if I over-wrote, but at the same time, I felt it was kind of necessary. Anyway, I hope you enjoy, and I hope you don't mind me dragging Christmas on with this story. I anticipate at least one more chapter after this one, no more than two. But anyway, thank you for the lovely feedback!_

* * *

 _CHRISTMAS DAY_

Sybil rubbed her hands fiercely together, trying her best to get the blood flowing through them once again. She held them up against the flame of the sputtering candle which she had lit a little over an hour ago, but the warmth it radiated was minimal at best. "This is mad," she muttered to herself, for the umpteenth time. She moved away from the candle and crossed the living room to one of the windows, taking the sleeve of her coat and rubbing against the glass furiously to wipe away the ice crystals. _What's taking so long?_ She bit her lip and tried her best to scour the city streets below, but it was near impossible. _How long ago has it been? It shouldn't have taken more than ten minutes—fifteen at most!_ What if something had happened to him? Why had she allowed him to go out on his own? She should have accompanied him at least! She should have—

The door to the flat practically burst open, causing Sybil to jump. "Tom!" she gasped, relief washing over her as her flatmate shuffled inside, snow coating his legs up to his thighs, his entire body shaking as he shook of his scarf, coat, and the various jumpers he had put on before leaving.

"Believe it or not…" he panted as he shuffled out of his wet layers. "It feels downright tropical in here, compared to out there."

He collapsed into a nearby chair and began to tug on his boots. Sybil quickly scooped his scarf and coat up off the floor, gave them a good shake to rid them of any excess snow, before draping them across the counter in their kitchen to dry. Under normal circumstances, the radiators would be the most likely place for such things, but as Sybil's cold and stiff bras could attest, the radiators were not ideal at the moment.

"I should have gone with you," she muttered, coming to help him with his boots.

"No point," Tom told her through gritted teeth as he managed to free one of his feet. "They're closed."

Sybil paused in her task and looked back at her flatmate, the little hope she had dying, like the sputtering flame in one of her old candles. "Closed?"

Tom sadly nodded. "The sidewalk hasn't been shoveled, and the parking lot behind the building has yet to be touched. I don't even want know what the alley looks like," he groaned.

It had been Tom's idea to go and see if the Chinese restaurant at the corner of their little street was opened. If so, they would go and feast on as many hot dishes as their wallets would allow, and try to figure out what to do next, all the while sitting and enjoying the working warmth of their surroundings. But alas, not even the family that ran the restaurant had dared to leave their home after such a storm.

With the last boot wrenched from his foot, Tom collapsed back onto the chair with a rather glorious "flop", and took a deep breath, glad to be rid of his snow-covered clothes. However, he was soon coughing and sputtering and making a face. "What…in God's name…?"

"Oh," Sybil knew to what he was referencing. "My candles," she explained.

Tom's nose crinkled and his eyes seemed to water. Before he had left to see if the Chinese restaurant was opened, Sybil had lit a few candles which she kept in her room, all of which were unscented. However, there wasn't much left of those candles; they were practically stubs in the jars that contained them. And she remembered a few she had in a box, two pumpkin-scented ones she had gotten back in October, plus a few holiday scented ones that she had gotten on clearance at one of the nearby shops. She lit all of them, and placed them around the flat. Their glow (in Sybil's opinion) was welcoming, and offered a bit more light to the flat, but the scent…well, Sybil now understood that scents like peppermint, spruce trees, and pumpkin, just really didn't go well together.

"You'll get used to it after a while!" Sybil attempted to reassure.

"Think I'd rather freeze," Tom muttered, lifting himself from the chair and wandering over to another end of the flat, away from the scented candles.

There was a bit of a tense silence then. Things had been awkward after they had woken up this morning (that was a lie; things had been awkward ever since Tom walked in on her while she was in the bath last night), but this wasn't the same as "avoiding one's eyes" out of embarrassment or "sexual confusion". No, now the awkwardness stemmed from Sybil's confession, which she had made a few hours earlier, when Tom had found her crying. He had tried to be helpful, she knew, offering her a "silver lining" and suggesting that she simply take her charger with her to the hospital and ring her family and explain the whole situation as to why she had been unable to skype like she had promised. But as nice as his suggestion had been…it didn't matter, because as she had tearfully told him, there was no "assigned hospital shift", as he had believed—as her family had believed! There never was…

 _Tom's hand, which felt so wonderful and warm, running up and down her back in an attempt to soothe her as she cried, stilled at her words._

 _"You…_ don't _…have a shift at the hospital…?" he slowly repeated._

Time to come clean, _she silently reasoned. "No," she sighed, and with great reluctance, eased herself away from him and out of his warm, comforting embrace. "No, I…I never had."_

 _Tom looked confused. There was a deep wrinkle on his forehead, and he was frowning. "But…but I thought you said that…that you were staying in Chicago because—"_

 _"I know," she interrupted. He didn't need to repeat what she had said, because she had said it! She had told him, just as she had told her family, that she couldn't come back to Downton for Christmas because she had been assigned a hospital shift over the holiday, and the assignment was more or less, set in stone._

 _She was standing now, with her arms folded across her chest, one of the bed's blankets draped over her shoulders, while Tom remained seated on her bed, still looking like he was trying to put pieces of a puzzle together._

 _"There's no hospital shift," he repeated again._

 _Sybil sighed and shook her head. "No, there isn't."_

 _"And…you said there never was one," he added._

 _She did her best not to roll her eyes. "That's right," she confirmed._

 _There was a beat of silence, and then Tom murmured, "So…there was nothing to prevent you from going back to England, then?"_

 _Sybil sucked in a deep breath, and managed to croak out a watery, "no," before closing her eyes and fighting off the tears that stung her vision._

 _She felt terrible; truly, truly terrible. She imagined her mother, arranging for everyone to gather around the family's Christmas tree in the Downton library, setting up the laptop and making sure everyone was seated in such a place so they could all be seen by the computer's camera for when their skype chat began. She imagined her father muttering "typical Sybil" when she wasn't online at the time she had promised, her mother telling him to hush, and waiting patiently…and then wondering what was keeping her when five minutes became ten, and ten turned into half an hour. She could kick herself for not charging her phone, because she had a feeling there would be at the very least, a dozen missed calls and at least half a dozen messages left by her mother, wondering where she was, if she had overslept, if she was having computer issues, why she wasn't answering her phone, to call back right away, no matter what, and each of those messages growing more and more frantic with every passing hour._

 _Her mother wasn't a hysterical woman, but perhaps because she was now living thousands of miles from home, and would always been seen as the "baby" of the family, her mother always seemed to be a near-constant state of worry about her if she didn't hear from Sybil on a twice-weekly basis at the very least. And after that tearful goodbye of yesterday, all the guilt for the lies she had been telling for the past month (longer, if you counted her lying to her family about Tom being "Tonya") had finally broke her._

 _A part of her foolishly thought she would feel better for at least telling him the truth. But she didn't. If anything, she felt worse…_

Tom hadn't asked for an explanation, and while Sybil knew he was curious, she was grateful that he didn't push her to learning her reasons for why she lied. Instead, he quietly rose from her bed and murmured she was welcome to use his phone if she changed her mind, and left her to herself. It had probably been for the best, Sybil reasoned, but she couldn't help but miss him dreadfully. She also couldn't help but wonder what he was thinking, now that he knew she had made up this story. She suspected she had lost some of his respect (which seemed to hurt more than the guilt she was feeling for choosing to avoid her family on Christmas Day). When she did eventually emerge from her room, she found Tom in their kitchen, going through the cupboards, and pulling various items out and placing them on the counter.

Her eyes spied the tin of biscuits she had baked last weekend. Oh, what she wouldn't give for a cup of tea right now. But anything hot that required the use of the oven or stove was out of the question.

There wasn't much in the refrigerator, and honestly, the flat was cool enough, Sybil didn't worry about the items inside spoiling. Still, Tom withdrew the milk, murmured that it would probably be in their best interests to try and finish it, and they both sat in silence, munching on a Christmas breakfast of cereal and biscuits. Afterward, Tom tried to call their landlord, but once again, the calls went straight to voicemail.

It was shortly after that phone call that Sybil decided to break out her candles to add some "warmth" to the flat, while Tom pulled on some extra layers, as well as his boots and coat to go down the street and see if the Chinese restaurant at the corner was open.

"I guess we're stuck feasting on more cereal," Sybil sighed, turning her head back to the kitchen, her stomach rumbling for something a bit more filling.

The sound of Tom chuckling surprised her, and drew her attention back to where he was standing, his face turned once again to the window. "What is it?" she asked, thinking it was something outside that had caused him to laugh.

He was leaning towards the window, one arm against the wall, supporting most of his weight. His shoulders were shaking as he laughed, and he finally turned his head and looked at her over his shoulder. "I'm just…I'm remembering something my mother said…" he explained, between chuckles.

Sybil lifted an eyebrow at this.

He pressed his lips together, in an effort to control his amusement. "Yesterday, she was fretting that I wouldn't be able to have anything 'decent' for Christmas dinner…"

Sybil felt her face flush at his explanation, but both his laugh and his smile were rather infectious, and soon she found herself giggling as well.

Tom's laughter only grew more and more, to the point where he was actually wiping tears from his eyes. "She thought…she thought my answer to having Chinese food for Christmas was bad!"

Sybil's stomach growled at the mention of Chinese. Oh, what she wouldn't give for a hot bowl of egg drop soup…and a fresh pot of oolong tea!

Tom sighed, his laughter finally seeming to die down. "God…I think compared to cereal, she'd agree that Chinese is better." His eyes were still bright with laughter when he focused again on her, but Sybil's own smile faded, and a renewed, cold stab of guilt washed over her.

With her arms hugging her body and her eyes looking downward, she whispered, "You should be there." She was speaking more to herself than to him, but he had heard her, because she heard Tom move towards her, and when she next looked up, her eyes widened in surprise to see him standing right in front of her.

"Syb…" he reached out and gently touched her shoulder. "This isn't your fault."

She knew he was right. She hadn't purposefully summoned a winter storm to hit Chicago on Christmas Eve to keep Tom from flying back to Dublin (if she did possess such powers, she'd have used them to summon a winter storm the day of her finals). But still, a part of her couldn't help but feel somehow "responsible" for his situation.

"Hey…" he drew her attention back to him, and despite the self-loathing she was feeling, she couldn't help but smile at the crooked grin he was giving her. "So given our present circumstances, our Christmas fare may be far from 'traditional'…" he moved across the room to the Christmas tree, where Sybil noticed him picking up a small bag, complete with a bright, green bow. "…But that doesn't mean we can't be 'merry' in our celebration."

Her eyes widened as he pulled bag's hidden item out, revealing a shiny, unopened bottle of Jameson Irish Whiskey.

"Where did you…?"

"Gift from my fellow 'doctoral hopefuls' in my program," he explained. "They admitted that it was a bit 'stereotypical', but hey—I like Jameson's; I not going to complain."

Sybil did laugh at that, though she also found herself trying to remember who those "fellow doctoral hopefuls" were. Tom did sometimes have them over at the flat for studying, and if memory served, there were a few _female_ doctoral hopefuls, who were rather pretty (and who seemed to grin and giggle at anything Tom said, like those American girls in _Love Actually_ ).

"That was rather nice of them," Sybil offered, forcing a smile (and swallowing the strange surge of jealousy that had momentarily flooded her mind). "I'm surprised you didn't take it with you."

Tom chuckled at that. "Don't know if the airline would have allowed me, even if I had wanted to."

 _Of course,_ Sybil inwardly rolled her eyes at herself. He started to twist the lid off the bottle, but paused briefly to say, "why don't you go and fetch us two glasses."

 _Two glasses?_ Sybil's eyes widened as she realized that Tom as offering to share his gift with her. "Oh, Tom, you don't have to—"

"Do you not care for whiskey?" he asked, pausing in his task and meeting her eyes.

Her face began to burn. "I um…honestly…I…I've never tried."

Tom's mouth fell open at this revelation. She might as well have told him that she thought the earth was flat.

"Well…your education starts now," Tom announced, a grin spreading across his face. He looked rather excited. Sybil wondered if she should be worried.

"Tom, this is _your_ present—it's meant for you!"

He had put the bottle down and was moving past her to fetch the glasses himself. "Aye, and I choose to share it," he simply told her. With glasses in hand, he returned to the kitchen table where the bottle waited, and removed the lid, before carefully pouring the liquid into their two glasses.

Sybil nibbled on her bottom lip and eyed the whiskey with some wariness. "Doesn't it burn?" she found herself asking, before groaning in embarrassment. God, he probably thought she had lived under a rock all her life.

Tom did chuckle, but there was nothing condescending or patronizing in his laugh. "It is warm, and there are some out there that, if you throw it back a bit too fast, will feel like your throat is on fire, but no, you'll be fine," he assured. "And if you'd prefer, we can always put your 'whiskey on the rocks', but I recommend your first taste be as it is…" He handed her one of the glasses, and then clinked his own with it.

Sybil gazed down at the liquid in her glass, a feeling of excited nervousness washing over her. "What are we drinking to?" she asked. "I mean…it is Christmas, we should drink to something, don't you think?"

He grinned at that. "Aye, I do, and…" he paused for a moment, as if thinking of a possible toast. Then with that cheeky smile of his, raised his glass and said, "To our first Chicago Christmas!"

Instead of lifting her own glass and repeating the toast, Sybil rolled her eyes. "I think you mean the _worst_ Christmas," she muttered.

"Not possible," Tom told her, shaking his head.

She made a scoffing laugh at that. "Not possible? Tom…your flight was canceled, you're stuck spending Christmas _here_ , and we have no heat, no electricity, nothing warm to eat—"

"But you're here," he softly interrupted.

Sybil stared back at him, all thought and manner of speech seeming to die from that simple sentence.

 _"But you're here…"_

She blinked for a moment, then lowered her eyes, her cheeks warming almost immediately. _Don't; don't read anything into it,_ she firmly told herself. _He's being friendly, because he's your friend; Friends say sweet things to one another all the time!_ But he had never said anything like that to her before…

"Alright, fine, you win!" Sybil replied, her words in a rush and her eyes looking anywhere but at him. "To our first Chicago Christmas!" And without further ado, she tossed her whiskey back.

And immediately started coughing.

"Woah!" Tom was by her side instantly, his hand on her back like before, only this time he was patting it as she coughed. "Easy, easy," he murmured, trying to hold back his laugh, or so it sounded. She couldn't blame him; she'd laugh at herself too.

"I…I'm fine," she coughed, groaning at the burning feel in her throat (not to mention the burning sensation in her cheeks).

"I didn't realize you were going to shoot it," he confessed, still trying to hold back his chuckle (and still running his hand up and down her back). "I'd have gotten you a proper shot glass then."

Sybil just waved a hand at him, trying to silently assure him that she was fine (and wishing more than anything that the earth would swallow her up and end her embarrassment). "I'm fine," she croaked once more, and then thrust her glass out towards him. "Pour me another!"

Tom's eyebrows shot up at this. "Syb—"

"Come on, Branson, drink up!" she ordered, reaching for the bottle herself, determined to save some face.

Tom's chuckle did escape his throat then, and he sighed and brought his glass to his lips, before throwing his head back and drinking its contents in one go. "Jesus…" he groaned, and Sybil's face burned even more. That sounded downright orgasmic.

"Good?" she found herself asking, a bit of a naughty giggle bubbling in the back of her throat.

"God, yes," he groaned again, grinning widely (and seeming to be unaware the effect his voice was having on her, or her knickers at the moment). She had the bottle, but had yet to pour for herself. Tom held his glass out to her, and Sybil gladly refreshed both their tumblers.

"Alright, my turn to toast!" Sybil announced, holding her glass high. Tom laughed and lifted his likewise. "To…to your friends, who were nice enough to give you this bottle of whiskey so that I could try it," she finished with a giggle.

Tom laughed again, and Sybil's smile spread even further. It was a wonderful, rich, warm sound. He had such a beautiful voice…

"Alright," he chuckled, once again clinking his glass with hers. "I'll drink to that, as well as to you."

Sybil paused, her glass halfway to her lips. "Me?"

"Aye," Tom nodded. "For being brave and trying whiskey for the first time."

Sybil found herself rolling her eyes at him again. "I'm not a complete amateur when it comes to drinking, thank you very much," she muttered. And to prove her point, she threw back her head and swallowed the contents of her glass in a single gulp, this time prepared for the warm liquid.

She still coughed, though it was lesser than before, and Tom still chuckled, though the amusement on his face seemed to soften into admiration. "I know that," he finally spoke, pausing briefly to drink his own whiskey. "I'm just surprised, that's all."

Sybil frowned. "Surprised, how?"

"I've seen you shoot tequila!" he explained, and made a face which not only made Sybil laugh, but also caused her heart to flutter at how adorable he looked. "I've seen you _drunk_ , from drinking tequila!"

Sybil's mouth flew open. "WHAT!? When?" she demanded.

"Halloween," Tom answered, mirth dancing in his eyes at the memory.

Sybil's brow was furrowed at first…and then her face turned the brightest shade of scarlet as through the fog and haze of drunken memories, she recalled the incident.

"It was a surprise, I'll not deny," Tom continued. "I mean, it's not every day a man comes home and finds his flatmate dancing around the living room with a group of ladies, all of whom are passing a tequila bottle around, while you sing at the top of your lungs—by the way, has anyone ever told you that you do a convincing Taylor Swift impersonation?"

"Oh, stop!" Sybil groaned, completely mortified. She shoved Tom's shoulder, but he just laughed, before (much to her horror) softly singing, _"we are never, ever, ever, getting back together…"_

"I was trying to cheer up my friend! She had just gone through a break-up," she explained (with a rather defensive tone).

Tom looked pensive for a moment. "Which friend?"

Sybil felt heat flood her face again. "Gwen…she's studying cardiology," she mumbled. "Redhead; very pretty." And who sometimes referred to Sybil's flatmate as _"the Irish sex god"._

"Isn't she Scottish?" Tom asked.

Now Sybil was feeling a stab of jealousy towards her own friend. Good Lord, she needed to get a hold of herself. "She is," she answered, forcing a smile. Had Tom taken notice of Gwen as well?

"So she's single now?"

Apparently, he had.

"I don't think she's interested in dating anyone at the moment," she mumbled quickly, before wincing at how pathetic she no doubt sounded. Seriously, WHAT was wrong with her?

Tom just gave a small shrug of his shoulders. "That makes sense," he murmured. "I'll try to emphasize that when I next speak with John."

Sybil frowned. "John?"

Tom nodded. "John Harding—you've met him. Fellow poly-sci doctoral student."

"Oh…" Sybil felt her face flush once again with embarrassment. So…so Tom _wasn't_ interested in Gwen?

"Yeah, he's fancied her for a long time," he continued. "I honestly suspect that the reason he's keen to come and study here instead of the library is simply because he's hoping Gwen will pop around—don't you remember? John and I were coming in while you and Gwen were heading out? This was back in early October."

"Oh! Yes, I remember now!" And she did. "That's right, she and her boyfriend at the time had convinced me to join them on a double-date with some friend of his…" she made a face, vaguely recalling the date. It hadn't been horrible, but by no means had it been good either. It certainly hadn't been worth her time in pursuing a second date.

Tom cleared his throat and looked down at his empty glass. "Yeah, that's right," he mumbled, before pouring himself another round and shooting the liquid once again down his throat.

"Hey!" Sybil frowned. "You're supposed to offer a toast!" She snatched the bottle out of his hands and quickly refilled her glass.

Tom gave a somewhat mocking bow of his head. "My apologies, _milady."_

"Ugh," Sybil rolled her eyes. "Don't even start."

He chuckled, but Sybil had already noticed a change in his mood, as if something were troubling him.

"Well, seeing as how you've already had a third," she muttered, before lifting her glass. "To John and Gwen!"

Tom's eyebrows lifted at this.

"For whatever the future brings for the two of them…may they, at the very least, be happy."

Warmth enveloped Sybil, and she honestly wasn't sure if that was due to the whiskey she had just drank, or the smile Tom was giving her at her toast.

"Well said," he murmured, his eyes seeming to shine once again with admiration, causing Sybil's heart to quicken and her face to flush.

Swallowing the sudden lump that seemed to have formed in her throat, she lifted the Jameson bottle to his glass. "Another?"

Tom smiled but shook his head. "Let's eat something first."

There was cold ham and turkey and cheese in the refrigerator, plus a few jars of different kinds of jam. From the cupboard, they grabbed peanut butter and bread, and with all their different ingredients, made a giant plate of sandwiches. This, plus a few packages of crisps, and Tom's whiskey, became their impromptu Christmas dinner. It was far from traditional, and while it wasn't the hot food Sybil craved, it was filling, and for that she was grateful.

It was Tom's idea that they eat in the living room, and Sybil couldn't help but smile as he insisted they have a little "picnic" of sorts, sitting on the living room floor, just a few feet away from Sybil's Christmas tree.

"I didn't realize how hungry I was," Sybil muttered between bites.

Tom laughed and nodded his head in agreement. "How many have you had?" he asked, looking down at the remaining sandwiches between them.

Sybil blushed and looked down at her crumb-covered lap. "Um…honestly? I've lost count."

Tom threw his head back and laughed, and then laughed even louder when a rather un-ladylike burp escaped her lips. "I imagine that's not something easily tolerated at Downton Abbey," he chuckled.

Despite her embarrassment, Sybil giggled and nodded her head in agreement. "No. Granny would be sending me death glares if she were here."

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, so would my Mam," Tom added, before winking at her and promising, "but your secret is safe with me."

Sybil blushed at this, and suddenly felt rather shy. "Yours too," she murmured.

Tom looked confused. "Mine too?"

She nodded her head. "Your secret," she clarified. "Us sitting on the living room floor like this, having our so-called 'Christmas dinner', rather than at the table; I imagine your mother wouldn't approve."

Tom shrugged his shoulders and gave her a crooked smile. "No, I doubt she would be. We may not have been posh, but she insisted on nothing short of 'impeccable' manners, especially at Christmas." A wistful smile seemed to cross his features and Sybil couldn't help but gaze at him in an admiring way. "Everything had to be just so…" he went on, clearly reminiscing the Christmases of his past. "The best china, the best tablecloth, everyone washed and dressed up—the boys didn't have to wear a tie, but they were expected to wear a jacket," he explained, painting a vivid picture of the Branson home at Christmas. "Everyone had to be seated at the table, while she and one of my aunts or sisters would bring the food out. But don't even think about touching anything!" he warned, shaking a finger at her.

Sybil laughed and tucked her legs up to her body, wrapping her arms (and blanket) around them as she listened. "I imagine if some poor soul tried, they'd get a thrashing!"

"They'd lose a bloody finger!" Tom corrected, which caused them both to laugh. Mrs. Branson sounded quite strict, and yet Sybil couldn't help but like the woman, even if she had never met or spoken with her.

"Mam would always be the last to the table—she would insist upon it. She'd sit down and then look at all of us gathered under a scrutinizing eye, before turning to my Da and nodding her head, which was a sign that he could say the blessing. And Da always kept it brief—he knew how hungry we all were, and having to sit there and endure seeing all this mouth-watering food being placed before us but not being able to taste it, let alone touch it…"

Despite the sandwiches she had consumed, Sybil's stomach growled again.

"But of course we still had to wait, because Mam would insist on making a big show, having the roast carved, and then we would all pass our plates like we were on a conveyer belt, and not until every plate had gone around the table and got a bit of meat, could we even think about tucking in, and EVEN THEN—"

"I'm amazed the food was still warm at this point!" Sybil groaned, but in good humor.

Tom chuckled and nodded in agreement. "Aye, I know what you mean. But Mam would keep one eye on the rest of us, while watching Da with her other, and he would be the first to take a bite of her roast, and we would all wait along with her, on baited breath as he bit into it…"

Sybil was leaning forward. "And?"

Tom grinned and started to laugh. "Do you honestly think he would dare tell her it was anything but delicious?"

Sybil's laugh joined his, and soon they both found themselves shaking with hysterics.

"But…but in all seriousness…" Tom managed to say after a while, his laughter under control. "In all seriousness…it _really was_ delicious."

Sybil grinned back at him. "Does she always make roast beef for Christmas?"

"Aye, and only for Christmas," he wistfully sighed. He leaned back against the wall and turned his gaze towards the window. "She's famous for it, Mam and her roast beef. People have been begging her for years, to tell them how she makes it. But she refuses to tell a soul, even her own family."

"What? None of you know?"

Tom shook his head. "Nope; says the recipe will be passed on to whomever she deems 'worthy', and even then, no one will find out until the reading of her will." Sybil gaped at him and Tom chuckled. "Mam is a bit dramatic, I can't deny." He folded his arms across his chest then and fixed her with a curious look. "And you?"

"Me?"

"Aye, what about you?" He settled back and crossed one leg over the other. "Tell me about your Christmases."

Sybil's mind seemed to go blank at his question. She looked down and played with a few loose threads at the end of her blanket. "There's not much to tell…" she murmured, more to herself.

She glanced up through her lashes at Tom and could tell he wanted to argue the matter, but instead, stopped himself and asked, "Well, since I shared that Mam's roast beef is my favorite thing for Christmas, how about you tell me what yours is?" He stretched his foot out and gently gave hers a nudge. "Come on…or am I going to have to guess?" He twisted his face into a silly expression that did have Sybil giggling. "Ah, I know it; Brussel sprouts."

Sybil's face contorted into one of disgust. "Ugh, no! No, no, NO."

Tom laughed to the point where tears began to run down his cheeks. "So…so that's a 'no' then?"

Sybil groaned and nodded her head. "Granny insists we have them, even though she can't stand them either," she muttered with a roll of her eyes. "'It just isn't a proper Christmas without them!'" she mimicked.

"Oh wow," Tom's expression was a mix of amusement and horror. "Does she really sound like that?"

Sybil smirked. "My sister Mary does a better impression; she even fooled our father once, over the telephone." A bittersweet smile spread across her face then as she thought about her sisters. She truly did love her family, even though they drove her mad. But she did love them, and she did miss them, especially her sisters.

"Syb?" Tom was looking at her with concerned eyes, obviously noticing the change in her demeanor.

She cleared her throat and shook her head. "Um, to answer your question, it's…it's pudding."

There was a pause and then Tom repeated, "Pudding?"

Sybil nodded. "My favorite thing for Christmas dinner," she explained, suddenly feeling rather self-conscious. She looked down at the blanket threads she had been playing with earlier. "Christmas pudding is my favorite."

She glanced back up at him and bit her lip, not sure how to read the look he was now giving her. It was…pensive…but there was something else to it as well. A smile slowly broke out, and he asked, "Does your pudding come with gold sovereigns?"

Sybil groaned and gave his foot a harsh nudge with her own. "I know you like to tease, but we're really not that different from…from…"

"Us peasants?"

"Stop it," she groaned, shoving his foot again, only he shoved back, and it suddenly reminded Sybil of their shoving contest in her bed last night. She looked to see if Tom was thinking or recalling the same thing, but based on the way he was laughing from their brief "foot fight", it didn't seem he was. _Perhaps he just wants to forget about it?_ After all, he had thought he had "taken advantage" of her while she was sleeping, and being the decent man that he was, was completely horrified at the prospect.

"Tell me something else…" he encouraged. That thoughtful, curious look was back on his face, but there was also a kind, warm smile that accompanied it, assuring her that she could trust him, and in truth, she did. It was hard to explain, but…she felt safe with him. Not just in the physical sense, but in the emotional sense as well.

Sybil sighed and held her whiskey glass out to him. "Top me off first."

"Oh go on, it can't be that bad?" He did, however, refill her glass as she requested.

 _That depends._ Suddenly, a rather silly idea popped into her head. "Does your family play games at Christmas?" she asked, turning the question around to him, surprising him slightly, but he nodded his head in the affirmative. "Let's play a game, then; like 'Twenty Questions', or something along those lines. You ask a question, I'll ask a question, and so forth."

Tom shrugged his shoulders. "Alright, but I'm sensing there's something more to this…"

A deep blush colored her cheeks, but she couldn't hold back the rather wicked grin that spread across her face. "If our answers are similar, we both drink. If not, then whoever asked the question has to take a drink."

Tom's eyes narrowed at this. "This sounds like a sure way to get drunk, and quickly, for that matter."

Sybil threw a hand up into the air. "Well, what else is there to do when you're snowed in on Christmas Day, without heat or electricity?"

Actually, one thing came to mind, but she kept her mouth tightly shut on that count.

Tom didn't look so certain. "I'm not against asking questions, but…I'm not so sure about the drinking element—I mean, what if you start singing Taylor Swift again?"

Sybil gasped, and then gave his leg another shove, which had Tom laughing, and not looking sorry in the slightest. "Alright, alright, how about this," he offered. "We drink, _both of us_ , but _only_ when our answers are similar. Deal?"

She supposed Tom thought this was the safer option, or at the very least, one that wouldn't result in the two of them passing out, drunk, on the living room floor any time soon. However, she thought he might be underestimating the reality that despite their different upbringings, they had a lot more in common than one might think.

"Deal," Sybil agreed, before giving his foot a "high five" with her own.

* * *

"What do you mean your family doesn't play charades?"

"I mean precisely that," Tom answered, amused by her indignation at his answer. The Jameson bottle was now empty and lay on the floor between them. It was just as well, because while he wouldn't say that Sybil was drunk, she certainly wasn't completely sober, either. Her speech slurred a little bit here and there, but she did seem coherent enough when he asked her a question, or she threw one back at him.

"But everyone plays charades at Christmas!"

"Well, clearly not everyone," he countered. He gave her a cheeky grin. "Or maybe just 'everyone posh'."

She gave him a hard look. "Charades is NOT just something 'posh' people do," she muttered.

"Even so…" he picked up the empty Jameson bottle and shook it. "No drink."

Sybil just rolled her eyes at him, which just widened his grin.

"But it isn't Christmas without charades!" she all but exploded, looking very exasperated (not to mention sexy).

Tom's eyebrows rose at this. "Careful there, milady, you're starting to sound like the Dowager."

"Oi!" Sybil grabbed the Jameson bottle, and lifted it as if she were going to throw it him. "That's below the belt, Branson."

"Ok, ok," Tom laughed, and then carefully pried the bottle out of her fingers before she accidently hurt herself with it. "I do beg your pardon… _milady."_

Sybil shoved his shoulders and Tom fell back against the wall he had been leaning against with a hard thud, but it didn't stop him from laughing. "You're very sensitive about that, aren't you?"

Sybil rolled her eyes. "Men," she muttered. "I don't understand the pleasure your gender seems to derive from annoying women."

"Well, I don't know about other men, but speaking for myself, I just rather like seeing you getting all—"

His cheeky comment died quickly in his throat, when suddenly she was on him, her hands grasping his wrists and pinning them to the wall, above his head. He had been completely taken by surprise, and he stared at her with wide eyes as her face hovered just inches above his. "Getting all…what?" she challenged, her voice low and sultry. At least that was how it sounded to him.

Tom swallowed, his body on red alert, his muscles tense (and a certain portion of him growing tenser by the second). She was practically straddling him! Was she aware of herself? Of what she was doing?

"Come on, Branson, answer the question…" she murmured, her warm breath perfumed by the whiskey they had been sharing. "You rather like seeing me getting all…?"

She was doing this on purpose. She was "tipsy", yes, they both were to a degree (their humor was certainly becoming a bit raunchier), but she was very much in control of her mind and her senses, and he realized now that she was simply trying to get a rise out of him. (Which was working, or rather, it was certainly having a "rising" effect on his body).

"OH!" Sybil gasped, as Tom gritted his teeth and growled, pushing her back, causing her to topple over, landing hard on her back and turning the tables on her. Now he was the one hovering over her, with her arms and wrists over her head, his own pinning them to the ground (and likewise, his body straddling hers).

"Getting all _feisty_ ," he finished, grinning wickedly down at her.

Sybil seemed to have been taken by surprise, and stared up at him, her blue eyes wide and her breath coming in short pants, which caused her breasts to rise and fall at a rapid rate. Tom felt his throat go dry, especially when his eyes fell to her parted lips…moist and full…and mere inches away…

"Feisty?" she breathed. His eyes flew back to hers. "You haven't begun to see feisty!"

"Holy f—!" His words were cut-off as the wind was knocked from him by her next move, like something out of a spy movie. Her legs came up and wrapped around his waist, and thanks to both the element of surprise and her lower body strength, she twisted them around, rolling the both of them over until now HE was on his back, and she on top of him! And her legs remained tightly wrapped around him too, which meant there was no "practically" this time, she _literally_ was straddling him! And oh God, how he wanted to enjoy it…but instead he winced in pain as his back rolled right onto the Jameson bottle. "FECK!"

"OH!" Sybil scrambled off him, realizing what had happened, her "feisty playfulness" now replaced with concern. "Tom, did it cut you? Roll over, let me see."

"No…" he groaned, though he did roll over onto his side, allowing the bottle to roll out from under him and across the room. "No, it didn't cut me," he assured her, though he let her examine his back, knowing that her inner doctor wouldn't be satisfied until she had done a routine check-up.

Oh God, there was a fantasy his mind hadn't considered until this moment. Dr. Sybil Crawley, in her little white lab coat, her hair piled high, glasses atop her nose. _"Time for your physical, Mr. Branson,"_ she purred, while pushing him down onto the exam table.

"Tom? Did that hurt?"

Tom's eyes flew open (he hadn't even realized they had been shut!) "W-w-what?" he stammered, looking up at her, her face hovering above. The way the late-afternoon sunlight filtered through the frost-covered windows made it seem as if there was some kind of "ethereal glow" illuminating her.

"You just groaned," she explained. "I was checking your back, and you let out this real, deep groan, and I thought maybe I had—"

"No," his voice squeaked this time, and his face turned crimson, a feeling of shame washing over him for the way his mind had wandered. God, he needed help.

He rolled himself away from her and carefully sat up, wincing as he did so, but grateful for the feeling of the couch behind him. "I'm fine, I'm fine," he assured her.

Sybil bit her lip, looking very apologetic. "Sorry, I…I guess the booze got the better of me," she mumbled.

Perhaps, but Tom knew he couldn't blame the whiskey entirely for the thoughts that had been running through his mind. "Nothing wrong with having a laugh," he tried to tease, hoping that would somehow diffuse the tension.

Sybil nodded her head…and then narrowed her eyes. "I still can't believe you don't play charades—"

"Jesus, you can't let it go, can you?" he groaned, which apparently had the desired effect, because they both burst out laughing then.

"But…but in all seriousness," she started to say, after their laughter had died down. "In all seriousness…why are guys like that?"

Tom frowned in confusion. "I'm assuming you're not talking about charades anymore?"

Sybil waved her hand, as if that conversation was ancient history. "Why do guys enjoy annoying women?"

Oh, so they were back onto that topic, apparently.

"I honestly have no idea," he answered, to which she rolled her eyes at him. "I'm telling the truth! I don't know why!"

"Do you enjoy it?" she asked, fixing him with a pointed look.

"Enjoy annoying women? God, no," he shook his head. "I don't have a death wish."

"I don't mean in general," she playfully kicked his foot with her own as they had done earlier. "I mean…well, like you said earlier, you enjoy seeing me get all…" her cheeks turned the most beautiful shade of pink he had ever seen. Her eyes lowered and her lashes brushed her cheeks in a way that made him want to groan her name.

"But I've seen guys do that—tease their girlfriends to the point where they start swatting them, and I just don't understand the appeal!"

Tom tried not to react to the fact that Sybil was more or less equating their behavior to one another, to that of actual couples she knew.

"Um…well…" he wasn't exactly sure how to answer her question. Was it a question?

"Maybe I should have studied psychology…" Sybil mumbled, more to herself than to him. "I've always been fascinated and irritated by this whole notion that begins when we're children, that 'if a boy likes you, he'll shove you', or other such nonsense."

"Now that, I agree with you completely," Tom replied, sitting up a bit straighter. "Mam would have boxed my ears, or worse, sic my sisters upon me, if she caught me doing that when I was a lad."

Sybil lifted a curious eyebrow at him. "So you never shoved a girl off a swing at the playground?"

Tom made a face of disgust. "God, no; and if I ever have a daughter and this happens to her, I'd tell her to shove him right back!"

Sybil smiled then, and even giggled, and suddenly Tom's mind was awash with a different image, a very different image to hot and sexy Dr. Crawley, but one of a little girl…with dark brown hair and deep blue eyes…the very image of her gorgeous mother—

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph…what was happening to him!?

"Alright, Mr. Branson, you've rather intrigued me…"

His eyes turned back to her, and he felt nervous lump form in his throat. "I…I have?" he asked, unsure if this was a good or a bad thing.

"What's the first thing you notice about a woman?"

She wasn't wasting any time. He suddenly felt like he was at a job interview (for a job he didn't realize until now, he desperately wanted).

"Her eyes," he answered.

Sybil's eyebrows lifted at that. "Really? Not her tits or her ass?"

"You're the one who's guilty of looking at anyone's arse," he teased, laughing at the kick her foot gave his.

"Alright, so her eyes are the first thing you notice, but what's your favorite part of a woman?"

"Her smile."

Sybil groaned. "Oh, please—"

"I'm telling the truth!" he defended.

"Alright, favorite sexual position."

"Jesus, Syb," Tom swore, his face on fire. "You don't beat around the bush, do you?"

"Nope," she grinned. "And see? I'm smiling."

And she was gorgeous.

"Come on, answer the question."

Apparently that whiskey had given her some "liquid courage" to ask questions he couldn't help but wonder if they would ever consider asking when they were completely sober?

"I…I don't know if I have a _favorite_ —"

"Oh please," Sybil muttered. "You do, EVERYONE has a favorite, and…" she eyed him as if trying to assess something. "It's 'doggy', isn't it?"

Tom frowned. "What?"

"Oh, you know…" _she_ was blushing now, which was rather justifying. "Down on all fours?"

Heat returned to his face (had it ever really left?) "Um…yeah, I won't deny, I do like—"

"AH HA!"

 _"BUT_ I wouldn't say it's my favorite," he argued.

"Then what is?" she challenged.

Tom gazed at her for a moment, and remembered how not so long ago, she had him at her mercy (before the Jameson bottle chose to interrupt their play).

"Her on top."

Sybil blinked, and Tom bit the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning at the blush he saw creeping up her neck and flooding her cheeks. "O-oh?" she stammered.

He nodded his head, and sat up a bit straighter. "Aye, there's…there's just something about seeing a woman rise above you…her head thrown back, her body bare and open, her mouth gasping in pleasure, as she _takes_ hers—she's completely in control of everything; the pace, the rhythm, the depth— _everything_. And you're completely at her mercy…"

His eyes were holding Sybil's and he noticed she was squirming a bit from where she sat.

"S-so you're saying," she cleared her throat before continuing. "So you're saying that…that you don't mind surrendering to a woman?"

A smile slowly spread across his face at her question. "Not at all," he answered honestly. "Besides…there's a strength in surrendering."

She swallowed and looked down, and Tom had to hold back the groan that threatened to leave his throat as he watched her lashes once again brush her cheeks.

"And you?"

Her head snapped up. "W-what?"

"You?" he repeated. _"Your_ favorite position?" It was only fair that she tell him. And he desperately wanted to know.

Sybil swallowed and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. "Um…well, I agree, there's something to be said about…about being on top," she murmured, and Tom held his breath as her eyes met his. "But…if I had to choose…" she bit her lip and then made a face, as if she were having the same difficulty he had to narrowing it down to just one (which aroused him more than he thought possible). "Ok, um…God, this is going to sound so boring…"

 _Not possible,_ he thought, while leaning forward.

"But…while I admit, it's a bit harder to…well…" he knew what she was trying to say, but he adored the way she was stumbling over her words. "Him on top," she finally managed to say.

Tom's eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Really?"

She groaned but nodded her head. "Yes, yes, good ol' 'missionary'," she muttered.

Tom swallowed the laugh in his throat. "Why do you sound so bothered?"

Her eyes went wide. "I…I'm not bothered! I just…" she squirmed. "Ok, well…similar to what you said, there's just something about…" her voice trailed off as she tried to say the right words to convey whatever images were flashing before her eyes. "…There's an intimacy," she explained. "When two people hold each other like that…and…and it just feels…" she blushed and Tom noticed she was wrapping her arms around herself. "That feeling of being held…cradled, even; your bodies pressed together…" she looked down and Tom let out a shaky breath. More than anything, he wanted to kiss her. It was one thing, her telling him the position she loved, but then the detailed image she provided…Sybil beneath him, her breasts pressed against his chest, her legs enfolding him as she had all too briefly done earlier, his arms around her, his hands cradling the back of her head, their noses brushing, their foreheads touching, their faces glistening with sweat and their lips murmuring the other's name between kisses…

"Alright, tell me about foreplay!"

Tom practically choked.

It wasn't missed by him how quickly Sybil was turning the tables, throwing the heated questions back on him. _Minx._

"Foreplay?"

"Your opinion?"

His opinion on foreplay. _Does this conversation count as foreplay?_ "I'm not against it, if that's what you're asking," he cheekily answered.

She laughed and shook her head. "Of course not; would any man turn down the opportunity for a blow job before sex?"

Sybil talking about blow jobs; God help him.

"I wasn't thinking about _that_ , exactly."

"Oh?" she had both a curious and somewhat eager look in her eyes. Or was that his imagination? "Do you mean…going down on her?"

Was she fishing for information? "Aye," he honestly answered. "Not _just_ that, but that included, yes."

Now Sybil looked very intrigued. "Most men think of it as a chore…"

"Most men are idiots."

"So you're saying you enjoy it?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying."

"You enjoy going down a woman."

"I _love_ going down on a woman."

Sybil's breath caught in her throat and Tom seemed to realize then that the both of them were leaning forward, just a foot or two apart.

 _You want her. And unless you're misreading everything, she wants you too!_ But even so, and while his mind screamed that they weren't drunk, he couldn't help but wonder if maybe this was all just a result of the whiskey. Or rather, a result of their situation? Trapped inside, the sexual tension seeming to be the thing that was keeping them warm. If they had electricity and heat, would this even be happening? Or would they be watching something on the telly, like Sybil's _Doctor Who_ Christmas specials?

And about her revelation? The fact that she had willingly chose to stay behind for Christmas, making up an excuse to explain why she couldn't come home, when she clearly seemed to miss her family. He still didn't understand why she had done all this, and a part of him couldn't help but wonder…if they were both just acting on impulse, because they were feeling sorry for themselves?

"Sybil…"

Her eyes had fluttered closed and she whispered, "Yes?" before opening them…and seeing him ease away from her.

He sighed and looked back at her, and she squirmed beneath his gaze, though it wasn't like before. And when she looked down, there was something akin to shame or despair.

"Sybil," he began again, but she shook her head and got to her feet.

"I…excuse me," she muttered, and she rushed out of the living room, down the short hallway that led to their bathroom. She shut the door, enclosing herself in the cold darkness of the room, and Tom leaned his head back against the couch, closing his eyes and groaning.

Had he done the right thing? Had he stopped them from doing something they would later regret, realizing it had all been a case of holiday blues, and thus ruining their friendship?

Or had he just made the most stupid mistake in his entire life?

 _To be continued..._

* * *

 _I know, the tension was...well, tense ;oP But I promise, it's all going to be worth it in the end (PROMISE!)_


	5. Christmas Evening

_CHRISTMAS EVENING_

It was freezing in the bathroom. If it weren't so dark, Sybil was positive she would be able to see her breath. She sat perched atop the closed toilet, her body hunched over, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, shivers coursing through her as she stared off into the darkness…

Despite how uncomfortable she was, she rather welcomed the cold. She needed it, really. It was helping her "wake up" and come back to reality.

Good God, what had she been thinking? Well, right there was the answer: she _hadn't_ been thinking, or rather, she had been thinking with her hormones and not with her head. Honestly, what had possessed her to ask him questions like _that!?_ She groaned as once again, her mind replayed the conversation they had just been having. Oh God, could she have appeared ANY more desperate or pathetic? She was practically THROWING herself at him! Sybil lowered her face into her hands, her cheeks feeling as if they were on fire, despite the significant chill of the room…oh Lord, had she _really_ asked him what his favorite sex position was?

 _So what? Friends mess around with each other; know the nitty-gritty details about one another, including all the twisted, perverted fantasies they have, like Gwen's inner dominatrix—hope John's prepared for_ that _, if the two of them ever hit it off_. But it wasn't the same thing. Her friendship with Tom wasn't like that, it was different, it was…it was…

She honestly wasn't sure what it was, but…it wasn't like any of her other friendships. For one thing (one very, significant thing) she didn't fancy shagging any of her other friends!

Sybil's head snapped up. Oh God, had she really just thought about… _shagging_ Tom?

She groaned and rolled her eyes at herself. Had she been thinking about anything else all day? Ever since she had woken up this morning with his arms around her, his hand on her breast, his…well, his body spooning hers. And even before that, the previous night, when she had invited him into her bed. She could say it was just to keep one another warm, but her hormones clearly had ulterior motives, even if her mind hadn't realized it at the time. Or maybe it had, and simply chose to turn a blind eye and ear…

But before that, even! When she had been staring at Tom's back, his shoulders, his…arse, after he had fallen in the bathroom (and after he had seen her naked in the tub!) She had been lusting after his body for far longer than she cared to admit, if she were truly being honest with herself. And it bothered her, immensely, for that very reason that he was her _friend_ , someone who she both admired and respected, who had his own thoughts, his own feelings, who was _a person_ , and…and who didn't deserve to be objectified and made into some woman's "lustful fantasy".

"Well done, Crawley," she muttered to herself. "You're no better than those men who howl at women passing by, or your own friends who tease you about sharing a flat with 'the Irish sex god'." She groaned and lowered her face once again. She had always prided herself on what she believed was "forward thinking"; that a man and a woman could simply be friends without the desire to get into one another's knickers. After all, she had other male friends, _straight_ male friends, who were handsome, clever, funny, decent human beings…

But they weren't Tom. And again, what she felt with those other male friends of hers was so different to what she felt for him.

Sybil pressed her lips together and swallowed the lump in her throat as a new thought came crashing forward. Was…was she… _falling_ for him?

Sybil leapt to her feet and began pacing the bathroom (well, more like stumbling around, since it was pitch black in the room). Oh no; no, no, no, she couldn't, she couldn't fall for her flatmate!

 _Why not?_

She froze at the thought.

 _What's so wrong with that? You could do far worse._

"Shut up," she hissed to the darkness.

 _Why does it bother you?_

"I'm NOT bothered," she muttered to herself. "It's just not like that between us!" Good Lord, it had finally happened; she was completely mad, having an actual argument with herself!

 _You admit that what you feel for him, the friendship you have with him, is different and unique compared to everyone else…_

Maybe if she ignored these thoughts, they would stop talking?

 _The best relationships are those born from friendship._

And they were all the more devastating when they didn't work out, either.

 _Or perhaps the reason you're so scared is because of what just happened…_

Sybil froze _. "What_ just happened?"

 _Isn't that why you're in here? Pacing in a freezing, pitch black bathroom, because you're trying to "save face" after he rejected you?_

Sybil made a scoffing sound. He…he hadn't "rejected" her.

…Had he?

NO! No, no, it wasn't like that at all! He had just…he had just…come to his "senses", that was all. "And one of us had to," she glumly mumbled.

Her eyes stung with tears, just as they had earlier, when she opened them and realized she had been leaning in, her lips parted, anticipating his kiss, her skin, her entire body on fire (and no, the whiskey had _nothing_ to do with it.) But instead of kissing her as she had been hoping, he simply murmured her name…and look on his face, the…the _disappointment_ she saw in his eyes…

She was so embarrassed. And she was a coward too, running away rather than facing his…rejection.

No, not rejection, just…the _reality_ of the situation.

It was cold, they were stuck together, they had been drinking, and…and they were lonely.

Tom wanted to be home with his family, and she…to be honest, she didn't know what she wanted. She felt horribly guilty, but at the same time, she believed she had made the right decision in choosing to stay. But again, wasn't that the coward's way out? Staying behind, rather than returning to England, to Downton to "face the music"? One thing was for certain, she couldn't spend the rest of the night in here. With a sigh, Sybil straightened her back and tried to hold her head up high as she reached forward to open the door…

Only she had miscalculated the distance between where she had been standing in the bathroom and where the door was, precisely, and thus ended up stumbling forward, which meant she literally stumbled out of the bathroom.

Thankfully her flatmate was there to catch her fall.

Unfortunately, there was no one present to catch his.

"Fecking hell!" Tom cursed as he landed (for the third time in the past twenty-four hours) on his lower back.

"Oh God!" Sybil gasped as she quickly tried to scramble off him. But unlike the living room floor from earlier, the hallway was quite narrow, and with Tom sprawled beneath her, there wasn't a great deal of space for her to move without pressing or stepping or kneeling on something (she did, however, try her best not to hit him in a certain region).

"You…you're just determined, aren't ye?" he attempted to chuckle, while still wincing in obvious pain.

Sybil paused and looked down at him in confusion. "Determined?"

"To break me."

She knew that his words were meant in good humor, but still, her face burned with embarrassment. That, and the fact that she was still sensitive to what had happened earlier between them, had her defenses immediately flaring up.

"Contrary to so-called 'popular belief'," she muttered, "It is not, nor has it been, my intention to make you fall down!"

The humor in Tom's eyes faded at what she knew was a petulant tone. "Sybil…"

She ignored him and managed to stand up. "What were you doing, standing there anyway?" she demanded.

Tom stared up at from where he lay, looking surprised, as well as wary. "You'd been in there for a while," he explained, somewhat cautiously.

How long was "a while"? Sybil wasn't sure, exactly; she had lost all manner of time. However, judging from growing darkness of the flat, it must have been a significant amount of time.

"So…so you thought you would just…stand there and _spy_ on me?"

Tom's brow furrowed and his mouth became a hard line. "I wasn't spying," he muttered as he began to sit up. "And how could I 'spy' on you, when I couldn't even see you?"

Sybil rolled her eyes. "Don't get pedantic, Tom, you know perfectly well—"

"I was concerned!" he retorted, now rising to his feet once again. "You ran into the loo, locked the door, and didn't come out for forty-five minutes!"

Sybil's eyes widened momentarily, before she scoffed and shook her head. "I was not in there for _that_ long—"

"You were," he insisted, refusing to back down. "And I know how cold it is in there—I didn't know if you had…had…had fallen asleep and were on the verge of freezing to death!"

She rolled her eyes again, but couldn't deny a part of her was rather touched by his concern. _Just like any good_ friend _would be._ Shame and embarrassment colored her cheeks once again. "Alright…" she mumbled, looking away from him. "Well…as you can see, I'm perfectly fine, so…thank you for your concern, but you don't have to hover and worry about me anymore."

Tom gave her an incredulous look, before turning and shaking his head and muttering something incoherent to himself. Sybil frowned, and again, her defenses flared up. "What was that?"

Tom was practically back in the living room, before pausing and turning to look of his shoulder at her. He seemed to be debating about what to say next, and Sybil noticed how his jaw seemed to tighten. _Go on, shout at me, tell me I'm overreacting; tell me I'm behaving like a child, or something of that nature._

"Why did you tell your family that you had a shift at the hospital?"

That was not what she was expecting. Instead of rising to the argument as she thought he would, he turned the tables on her and took her completely by surprise with his question. And no doubt he had seen how quickly that question unnerved her. Her defenses were momentarily shaken, and the emotion she had been trying to hide ever since crashing into him bubbled over and tears once again blurred her vision.

Sybil turned her head away and made a mad wipe at her eyes. She had already cried in front of him earlier, and she didn't want to repeat the action if she could help it.

"Syb…"

"It's nothing," she muttered, still not looking at him. "I mean that, it's really, really nothing—it's stupid, and not worth talking about."

The look on Tom's face when she managed to lift her eyes to glance at him told her that he clearly didn't believe her. But hopefully, like before, he wouldn't push the subject and just let her be.

No such luck.

"If it's really 'nothing', then why did you do it at all?" he challenged, while slowly moving back towards her.

Sybil's arms were folded across her chest, as if trying to put up some kind of defensive shield. "I told you, it's stupid, and therefore not worth talking about," she repeated, putting a little more emphasis on her words. "Now if you'll excuse me…" she mumbled, making a move towards her bedroom door. But she stopped short when Tom blocked her way.

"It's not stupid," Tom murmured.

Sybil glared up at him. "I'd like to get into my room, please."

"It's _not_ stupid," Tom repeated, putting more emphasis on his own words, and still not moving out of her way.

Sybil rolled her eyes. "You don't even know what I'm talking about."

"I know that you're upset…that you miss your family—"

"Everyone misses their families at Christmas," Sybil muttered. "Even people who hate their families miss them at Christmas."

"Do _you_ hate your family?"

Sybil's eyes widened and her face paled at Tom's question. Her mouth fell open, but no sound came out. She quickly shook her head. "N-no, no, I…I don't…I don't hate them, I…" she swallowed the emotional lump that had gotten stuck in her throat. "I just didn't want to go home, alright?"

"Why?" Tom asked, leaning towards her, and it was at that moment Sybil realized she had been taking a few steps back.

"I told you, it's _stupid_ —"

"It _can't_ be, if you felt compelled to lie to your family—to me, even—that you had stay here, rather than fly back to England—"

"Is that what this is all about?" Sybil demanded, interrupting Tom. He looked confused, but before he could question what she meant, she pushed forward. "Are you more upset that I lied to you, and told you that I had a shift at the hospital when I didn't?"

Tom's brow furrowed. "What? No, I—"

"Perhaps you were hoping to have the flat all to yourself," Sybil went on with a dramatic throw of her arms.

Tom's frown deepened at her words. "I was hoping to be flying back _to_ _Ireland_ actually, but my flight was grounded, remember?"

"Yes, I know, you're stuck here, snowed in with me," she practically spat those last words. "I'm sorry for ruining your Christmas."

"What are you TALKING about? Sybil, I didn't know you were even going to be here!"

"Exactly," Sybil interrupted again, the tears stinging her eyes. "You were forced to come back, but instead of having the flat all to yourself, you find me here, so any hope of having what could have been a 'nice, peaceful Christmas', is completely ruined by—"

"Any hope of having a 'nice Christmas' was ruined the second that storm grounded my flight!" Tom all but shouted.

A tear slipped down her cheek, but Sybil made no move to wipe it away. She was feeling sorry for herself, and she hated it. She hated how she was behaving, how she was taking out her anger and frustration on him, how she was purposefully goading him into a fight, and forcing him to say what she already knew to be true; that these confused feelings she was having in regards to her flatmate were completely one-sided, and that Tom's previous words and actions had all been a result of alcohol and homesickness. And even earlier, that morning in her bed, that probably had nothing to do with her either. She was just a female body for him to sleepily fondle, nothing more. All guys would probably react the same way if they had been in a similar situation.

"Yes, well, I told you this was 'the worst Christmas'," she muttered, more to herself than to him. Why was she doing this? Did she desire to inflict pain upon herself? Upon others? No, but…somehow she just wanted the reality of it all drilled into her brain, to stop herself from feeling whatever this was that she was feeling towards him.

"Sybil…"

She jumped at the feel of his hand on her shoulder. Tom took a step back and raised his hands in a surrendering gesture. He try to touch her again, but anger that had been on his face earlier had softened, and his eyes were once again filled with concern and caring. God, she didn't deserve that kind of look, not after…everything, really.

"Syb…" he began again, and then sighed and lowered his head, before looking back up and holding her gaze and murmuring, "I'm sorry."

Sybil's eyes widened. "W-what? Why are you—?"

"I shouldn't have said that."

Oh. She assumed he meant what he had said about how the storm had ruined his Christmas, because it was keeping him there (with her), rather than taking him back to Ireland. She gave a shrug of her shoulders and shook her head. "You don't need to apologize," she mumbled, and then forced a brave smile. "Really, you…you don't, because I know you miss your family, I know you were looking forward to seeing them and being home for Christmas—"

"Aye, I was, but at the same time, I meant what I said earlier, too."

She was confused by his words, and stared up at him, her brow furrowed and her arms wrapped around her body. "What you said earlier…?"

"That it's 'not possible' for this to be 'the worst Christmas'," he explained. Sybil's breath caught in her throat as Tom looked back at her, his eyes holding her gaze in such a way that she didn't dare blink. "Don't you remember what I said?" he whispered, and took a step closer to her.

She did, but…she wanted to hear it again; she _needed_ to hear it again.

"I said, 'not possible', because…you're here."

A shaky breath slipped past Sybil's lips, especially as he took another step closer to her. They were practically toe to toe. _Is this true? Is this real? Does he…?_ But if he did, then why did say her name in that disappointing manner after they had been flirting with each other and she had been leaning in to kiss him? She was so confused; she didn't know what to hope or think.

"Sybil…"

Her attention was drawn back to him, and she noticed that he had lifted his hand, that it was hovering close to her face, as if he wanted to touch her, but wasn't sure whether he should. She also noticed how his eyes seemed to be glancing back and forth from her own, to her lips…and her eyes did the same. _Kiss him, let it happen, he wants you to, and you desperately want to! Kiss him! KISS HIM!_

They both jumped at the sound of Tom's phone, ringing from where he had left it in the kitchen. Sybil practically staggered back, and her hands rose to cool her cheeks, as well as hide the humiliating blush that covered them. Reality was calling again…and this time, quite literally.

Tom groaned and took a step back as well, before finally turning to the kitchen to retrieve his phone. With his back to her, Sybil lowered her hands from her face and once again wrapped her arms around herself. All the blood had gone to her face, apparently, because the rest of her was shivering.

With his back to her, Tom picked up the mobile, cursed silently, before answering. "Mam…"

Sybil glanced at her door, now unoccupied, and considered making a hasty retreat as she had hoped to do earlier. It was the cowardly thing to do, but hey, she was used to that by now.

"I know…I'm sorry I didn't ring you back, it's just…yeah, I know it's almost midnight there—"

 _Best to give him some privacy,_ Sybil thought to herself. At least that was a better excuse than retreating to her room to hide from both Tom and her confused emotions.

"Simon?"

Sybil paused. _Simon?_

Tom turned then and met Sybil's eyes. Her eyebrows lifted in question. Was it her imagination, or did he look somewhat…panicked?

"Um…Simon can't…he can't come to the phone right now, Mam," Tom explained, his face growing redder with each word, and his eyes sheepishly glancing away from Sybil's.

Realization dawned on her. Was _she_ "Simon"?

Well…why not? After all, as far as her family was concerned, Tom was "Tonya". _Great minds…_

"I know, Mam, I know I said that earlier, but it's true, he _can't_ talk right now—no, he's not trying to avoid you—NO, I'm not ashamed of my family, that isn't the reason…" he looked back at Sybil somewhat helplessly, and for the first time since she had exited that bathroom and crashed into her flatmate, she felt a smile spread across her face.

Her hand covered her mouth in an attempt to stifle the giggle that threatened to escape. Oh, poor Tom. If he was looking to her for help, she had none to offer. There was no way she could convince anyone, no matter how hard she tried to lower her voice, that she was a bloke.

Tom sighed and listened to what Sybil could only gather was a proper, motherly, "chastisement". Lord knew she could relate with him on that front. Although she had to admit, she was rather flattered that Mrs. Branson seemed to care so much about this "Simon".

"Right…right…I will…I will! I promise, I…" he closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose, while silently nodding along to whatever his mother was saying. "Yeah…I know…I miss you too…" he opened his eyes and looked back at Sybil as he finished, "yeah, all my love to them—I promise, Mam, I'll pass that on…goodnight." And the call ended.

"My mother," Tom explained, though that much was obvious. "She um…she sends you 'warmest regards'," he explained.

"Me?" Sybil answered, a cheeky grin spreading across her face. "Or _'Simon'?"_

Tom groaned and turned his mobile off completely. "Yeah, about that…um…you see, Mam is very religious, and…she'd go spare if she knew I was living with—"

The giggle she had been trying so hard to suppress finally burst forth. "Oh God, Tom, please…you don't have to explain!" she laughed, shaking her head. "I understand, I get it, I do," she assured him, her entire body shaking now with laughter.

He nodded his head at her, and while his face was deeply flushed from embarrassment, at the same time, he was smiling as well. "So I'm correct in thinking that you've said something likewise to yours?"

She sighed and nodded her head in confirmation. "You are correct, and for similar reasons. Well…not religious reasons, but simply, my parents would go 'spare' as you say, if they knew my flatmate was of the opposite gender, as well."

Tom nodded back in understanding, though he was now looking a bit perplexed. "And um…as far as your family is concerned, _who_ is your flatmate…?"

Sybil bit her lip, still giggling from before. "Well, um…she's very similar to you, in the fact that she's Irish, as well as from Dublin. And she's also working on her doctorate in political science—oh, and she's a left-leaning socialist, much to my father's shock and horror."

"I'm surprised they're still allowing you to live with her," Tom chuckled. "And um…does this ravishing, clever, politically-minded, redheaded Irish beauty have a name?"

Sybil frowned. _"Redheaded?"_

"She's Irish, so naturally she's a redhead," he teased.

Sybil rolled her eyes, but giggled all the same. "She does," she answered.

Tom leaned closer. "…And?"

Sybil looked back at him. "What?"

"Oh, COME ON," Tom groaned, to which Sybil burst out laughing all over again. Tom simply grinned back at her and waited patiently for her laughter to die down.

"Alright, alright, I'll tell you, but…I have a feeling you're not going to like it."

Tom's smile faded and a troubled expression crossed his face. "Please tell me her name isn't 'Mary-Katherine' or some other stereotypical—"

"It's _Tonya,"_ Sybil finally answered.

There was a pause as the name hovered between them.

"Tonya?" Tom repeated after a beat or two.

Sybil couldn't exactly tell what he thought of it, his expression was a bit unreadable, as if he were still processing the name.

"Tonya…" he repeated again. And then, _"TONYA!?"_

She had been right. "I warned you—"

"Really, Syb? _REALLY?_ Tonya?"

"I was trying to think of something that was semi-close to 'Tom'!" she defended.

"Aye, I get that, but…I don't know ANYONE that's Irish with the name 'Tonya'!"

"Well, you can be the first!" Sybil giggled, her laughter only growing louder at the face Tom made, especially when he mouthed the words _"Tonya Branson"_ to himself. "In my defense," she felt compelled to add, "It's a great deal more difficult to match a feminine name to 'Tom', than a masculine name to 'Sybil'."

Tom looked as though he were going to argue with her on that point, but paused and gazed at her, and a smile began to slowly spread across his handsome face. Sybil soon noticed and once again felt her cheeks grow warm. "W-what?" she asked, her giggling calming down. "What is it?"

His smile only grew. "I like it when you laugh," he murmured.

Sybil's face grew even hotter. "You…you do?"

"Aye," he nodded. "It means you're happy."

That warmth in her face was quickly spreading through the rest of her. She suddenly felt rather shy, and lowered her eyes, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

"Even if it's at my expense…" he sighed, over-dramatically, which earned another giggle from Sybil (no doubt his goal, she realized).

"You're such a martyr," Sybil teased.

"Don't I know it," Tom sighed again, before looking back at her, his eyes holding her gaze once again. "But it's worth it."

Sybil swore she felt her heart swell at the tenderness she saw. She shivered, but it wasn't like the shiver she had felt before, nor did it have anything to do with the cold. But he didn't know that, and the tender look in his eyes immediately changed to that of concern once again, and he was crossing the space between them, grabbing his coat in the process. "Are you cold?" he asked her, and before she answered, he was standing right in front of her, draping the coat around her shoulders.

Sybil's breath caught in her throat at how close they were both standing, their chests practically touching. Tom's hands were still attached to the coat's lapels, and he hadn't let go. If anything, he seemed to be pulling her closer, and once again their eyes seemed to be somewhat fixated on the other's lips.

"T-t-thank you," Sybil stammered. Cold was the last thing she was feeling, especially when he was standing so close to her now. Did she dare try again? Did she dare close her eyes, tilt her face, and hope and pray nothing would stop them this time?

"Tell me something…" his voice drew her back to the present and she looked up at him, his body, his face, still so close to hers. "Earlier…when we were…" he blushed and Sybil felt heat flare up in her belly. "When we were sharing the whiskey and asking each other questions," he went on. "I remember you telling me about this party your family always used to throw at their castle."

"It's _not_ a castle—"

"It is, Syb; it's a big, bloody castle," he insisted, which did draw a giggle from her. He grinned. "You told me about this party…a dance of some kind, where you posh folks allowed us peasants—"

"You mean 'the Servant's Ball'?" she groaned, with playful exasperation.

"Aye, that's it," he chuckled. "I want to hear more about that."

She lifted an eyebrow. "You want me to describe the Servant's Ball?" He simply nodded and then waited for her to begin.

"Um…well, it was started by the fourth earl—"

"How long ago was that?"

"The 1880's, I believe."

Tom whistled. "From the way you aristocrats always like emphasize 'age and tradition', that's practically 'brand new'!" he teased. "Go on, tell me more."

Sybil rolled her eyes, but proceeded. "Traditionally, the Servant's Ball was held on Twelfth Night—"

"But not anymore?"

"No," Sybil shook her head. "I think my grandfather decided to move it to New Year's Eve, just thought it made more sense to have one big party then. Cost effective too."

"Aye, the English aristocracy is known for its frugalness."

Sybil swatted Tom's chest, but couldn't help but giggle in agreement. They were still standing very close, and his hands were still holding onto the lapels of the coat he had put around her.

"Anyway, the idea behind the Servant's Ball was…well, it was a time when the family could…show their appreciation to the staff, by giving them this party, but it was also an opportunity for both the family and the staff to…celebrate together."

"So you're saying that…the chauffeur, for example. He could dance with one of the young ladies of the house? If she wished to, of course."

Sybil's face grew hot. "That's right," she answered, her voice somewhat breathy.

"Do you know of any stories like that?" he pressed on. "Where lowly Irish chauffeurs had the courage and audacity to ask one of the Earl of Grantham's daughters to dance?"

Sybil swallowed and gazed up at him. "What makes you think the chauffeur was Irish?"

Tom shrugged his shoulders. "My great-great-grandfather was one, and worked for a wealthy family in England, sometime before the Great War," Tom explained. "I'm just imagining what it would be like, if I were him."

Sybil couldn't help but grin at the image Tom painted in her head. "And would you?" she asked him, a teasing note in her voice. "Would you ask one of your employer's daughters to dance?"

"No."

Sybil was taken aback. "No?"

He shook his head.

"Oh…" she swallowed and lowered her eyes. "Well…um..." She lifted her gaze back to him when she heard him chuckle. "What's so funny?"

He grinned back at her, that handsome, cheeky, crooked grin of his. "I wouldn't ask _one_ of the employer's daughters to dance...but I _would_ ask his Lordship's youngest."

He was looking directly at her, and there was no mistaking the meaning in his words. Sybil sucked in a breath and felt her face burn, but she didn't dare look away.

"May I have this dance, then?" he proceeded to ask, and she held her breath as she felt his right hand drift down from the lapel he had been holding, until it reached her waist, drawing her even closer to him. "…Lady Sybil?"

It was a good thing he was holding her, because she would have literally melted away at the sound of his sexy Irish accent saying her name and title in that manner. She had a feeling that her voice would come out in a squeak if she opened her mouth, so instead, she simply nodded and brought a somewhat trembling hand up to his shoulder and grasped it firmly, while her other hand found his, his large palm cradling hers as their fingers entwined.

There was no music, but it didn't matter. A soundless rhythm guided Tom through the steps, and Sybil easily followed. It was a simple waltz, something she had learned years ago, before she was twelve, at her grandmother's insistence. But where had Tom learned to dance? He always spoke so highly of his "working class upbringing", that she had never once assumed he knew anything about formal dancing. How wrong she was. How glad she was to be wrong!

"You dance divinely, Mr. Branson," Sybil murmured after a while, getting into character and smiling shyly up at him.

"Thank you, milady," Tom replied, grinning back at her. "You're not so bad yourself."

"Ha, ha," Sybil groaned. "Well, Granny will be pleased to hear that; she thought I was hopeless."

"Well, maybe you just needed the right partner?"

Sybil swallowed and let out a shaky breath. Gracious, he really did know the right things to say, didn't he? "And you?" she managed to ask without squeaking. "Who taught you?"

Tom chuckled. "My oldest sister; as soon as she got engaged, she announced that we were all to take formal dance lessons, because she didn't want any of us 'embarrassing her' on the dance floor at her wedding."

"Oh my," Sybil giggled, imagining Tom's sister. "She sounds rather like Mary."

"Based on what you've told me about your sister, I think they be long-lost twins!"

He twirled her around the room and then made her gasp as he unexpectedly dipped her. Sybil's hand dug even more into his shoulder, and she let out a little squeal, but Tom simply chuckled before bringing her upright once again. "Don't worry, I wasn't going to let you fall," he promised, his smile warm and assuring.

 _Too late for that,_ Sybil found herself thinking.

They continued to dance, and the room continued to darken, the only coming from Sybil's various candles which she had lit earlier. "Do you think the power will be back tomorrow?" she found herself asking. She was already thinking about what would happen when they decided to go to bed. After she had come out of the bathroom, she had been prepared to lock herself away in her room and avoid him as much as possible, with no question of the two of them sharing a bed (ever again). But now…

Now, she couldn't bear the thought of not being in his arms. She was slowly coming to accept more and more that what she was feeling for her flatmate was more than mere lust (though there was still plenty of that too, if she were honest with herself). But in all seriousness…waking up as she had that morning, his arm around her, his body spooning hers, his chest pressed against her back, his lips sleepily kissing her neck and shoulder…

She wanted that again. Lord help her, she wanted that every night for the rest of her life.

"I'm sure it will," Tom answered, though he didn't sound very confident. Or was that something else? Was he thinking about what would happen later as well? Or did he care? Again, was he just being his usual, wonderful, friendly self?

"I want to tell you."

Sybil's eyes widened as she realized…those words had come from her!

Tom paused and they both stood still, though his arms didn't let her go. "Tell me what?"

Tell him what? What was it she wanted to tell him? Why had she—?

"Sybil?"

She swallowed then bit her lip, glanced down, before finally lifting her eyes back to his. "I…I want to tell you…the reason," she finally murmured.

Tom frowned. "The reason?"

Sybil quietly nodded her head. "The reason to why I…to why I lied; about having a shift at the hospital." She wasn't exactly sure why she wanted to tell him this, but she simply felt that she should. After all, they both knew that they were lying to their families about the true identity of who their flatmate was, and Tom already knew that she had lied about having to work over Christmas, so…why not just explain everything?

"It's stupid, it really is," she groaned, lowering her eyes in embarrassment.

"Sybil," Tom's voice was soft, but urging, and her heart skipped a beat at the gentle feel of his fingers, lightly cupping her chin and encouraging her to lift her head. "Nothing you feel is _ever_ stupid," he murmured.

His hand lingered, and Sybil could feel assurance radiating from his touch _. Just tell him and get it over with; you're building this up to being something far bigger than it is._

For once, she agreed with the little voice. "My family isn't very keen on the fact that I chose to go to medical school here—in America," she explained, before giving a rather self-deprecating laugh. "They're not exactly keen that I chose to go to medical school, period."

Tom's brow furrowed at this, but he didn't say anything. She had a feeling he was going to try his best not to interrupt or ask any questions until she was finished.

"You weren't wrong, when you said that thing about the aristocracy and 'age and tradition'," she groaned. "I know you were joking, but…there's a reality to what you said. Even now, in the 21st century, the expectation for…for women like me, is to go into some kind of charity work—head a fund, or start a foundation—it's all very good and noble, of course, but..." she looked into his eyes, hoping he could understand her struggle. "But it isn't _me."_

"Of course it isn't," Tom murmured, a small smile curling at the corners of his lips. "You've always been the kind of person who had to get their hands involved, quite literally," he chuckled.

Sybil felt as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders; she couldn't help but smile back at him. It was such a relief to be understood. "Yes," she answered, nodding her head somewhat vigorously. "Yes, exactly! While I've always held such charitable organizations with great respect, I knew I would never feel…as if I had _accomplished_ anything, as if I had done any good at all, really, if I hadn't… _worked_. And that was when I realized that I wanted to do 'real work' and have a 'real job'."

Tom nodded, but had gone silent again. He waited patiently for her to tell the rest, no doubt knowing this was simply the beginning.

"Anyway…things have been tense with my family for quite some time…especially between my father and myself," she continued. "While they weren't mad about my choosing to study medicine and one day become a doctor, they didn't try to stop me, so I'll give them that," she sighed. "But even so…if I ever came down for breakfast, yawning, Papa would immediately point out the fact that my studies were too stressful, and causing me to lose sleep. And I didn't dare complain, because Papa was ready to point out 'well this is your doing!'," she grumbled while rolling her eyes.

Her gaze fell away, and her eyes were drawn momentarily to a flickering candle near one of the frost-covered windows.

"They didn't try to stop me, but they never really supported me, either," she whispered. Silence filled the room for a moment. "That sounds very harsh; perhaps I should say, they never tried to really…understand me." She lifted her eyes to his again, and was met with a sympathetic smile.

More silence, and then Tom murmured, "so…is that why…?"

Sybil groaned and shook her head. "No, it's…" she stopped herself from saying the word "stupid", but her face was already burning with embarrassment. "The real reason I didn't want to go back is just the 'tip of the iceberg', really. But I can't deny that a lack of understanding, and my mother's constant urging that I rethink this whole thing and just…return to Britain and enroll in Manchester or York…" she paused and let out another groan of frustration. "You see, I'm 'the baby' of the family, and no matter how old I get, that's how I'll always been seen; youngest child, youngest sister—"

"All children, no matter how old they get, are babies in their mother's eyes," Tom interjected.

Sybil rolled her own. "That may be, but it gets tiresome very quickly. Mama worries constantly—in fact I'm rather surprised the National Guard hasn't broken down our door since I failed to skype with her, and she can't get through to my phone…" God, how many messages had her mother left by now? "Mama was the most adamant against me coming to Northwestern. If she could have her way, I would be going to school no more than an hour away— _and_ still living at home!" She let out a frustrated groan and without pausing to second guess herself, allowed her head to fall to his shoulder. "I know that sounds ungrateful…and I know when compared to 'real problems', it's trivial," she sighed, shame flooding her mind. There were people out there whose parents refused to talk to them, who wouldn't even acknowledge their very existence! And here she was, complaining about how her father disagreed with her and how her mother was "over-protective". They still loved her; that she knew, that she never doubted. _Poor little rich girl_ , a voice mocked inside her head. Guilty tears began to drip down her cheeks.

A hand, gentle and strong, cupped the back of her head. A shaky breath escaped her lips as she felt Tom's fingers comb through her hair, while his other hand ran soothingly up and down her spine. "I'm not judging you, Sybil," he murmured, his lips brushing her temple.

Sybil closed her eyes and felt her entire body sag against his. Her own arms wove around his waist, and she just held him close, wishing to never let him go, wanting to stay like this forever if she could…

The tears continued to fall, but the emotion had changed. She didn't feel ashamed or guilty, but moved and grateful; grateful for this man who was patient with her, who accepted her and all her mad foibles and quirks. He was more than just a good friend…he was her best friend. And she was falling in love with him (if she weren't already completely there).

Tom's lips remained at her temple, and Sybil's breath caught in her throat as once again, she felt them brush her skin. She didn't dare move; she didn't dare breathe. She stood perfectly still as his lips eased down from her temple, until they softly brushed the delicate skin of her eyelid, before softly, oh so tenderly, kissing her closed eye.

His lips hovered over her eye for a moment, and then kissed the skin just beneath it, as if kissing away the tears that had fallen. His lips moved across her face, and she felt his hand, the one that had been cupping the back of her head, gently easing her away from his shoulder. She allowed him, but she kept her eyes closed, relishing in the feel of his lips as they now passed over her other eye, and tenderly kissed it as he had done the first.

Now, his lips were grazing her cheek, and despite her efforts to remain still and quiet, Sybil's lips parted and a breathy gasp escaped her throat as she felt Tom's lips gently brush along her jawline.

He stopped then, after she had made the sound, and Sybil's eyes opened, fear filling her belly at the possibility that once again, she had somehow "broken the spell", and reality was going to come crashing back. Oh God, if that happened again, she didn't think her heart would be able to recover.

But when she opened her eyes, Tom wasn't looking horrified or disappointed; he didn't even look shocked by his actions. Instead, he was staring right back at her, his eyes searching hers, perhaps looking for some sign that what had been started was not only alright, but also returned. So Sybil answered that look the best way she could conceive. She rose up onto her tiptoes, wove her arms around his neck and shoulders, and drew his head down to hers until their lips touched.

And then the both of them instantly melted into the other.

And _that_ was when the power came back on.

* * *

Tom was lost.

The kiss was better than anything he could have ever imagined (and for the past twenty-fours, he had been imagining it quite a bit). Her lips were warm and soft and incredibly sweet. The kiss quickly deepened, their mouths sighing open and welcoming the other's tongue; God in heaven, the feel of her tongue entering his mouth, of caressing his own, then drawing him deeply into hers…

His body was on fire, and his arms tightened even more around her. He groaned against her mouth as he felt her body melt against him completely. Despite the numerous layers they were both wearing, he could feel the swell of her breasts pressing against his chest. His hands moved down her back, feeling for her curves, caressing her waist, hips, even daring to run along the swell of her backside. Sybil gasped his name, a pleasured gasp, and he just kissed her even harder. God, he couldn't stop himself; he couldn't get enough! He wanted more, and it seemed that she did as well! Her own hands were wandering, caressing his shoulders, down his arms, as if feeling for the muscles beneath the layers he wore. God, too many, there were too many layers separating them. He wanted to feel her, every wonderful, beautiful inch of her. And he wanted her to touch him too, to feel her soft fingers running along his skin, tracing and memorizing every angle.

"Sybil…" he groaned, his hands pushing the coat from her body and then gripping the hem of her jumper. He opened his eyes to catch her gaze, to seek her permission for what he wanted to do…and then froze at the sudden gasp that came from her lips.

It wasn't a pleasured gasp like the one from before. No, it was a gasp of surprise, of genuine shock!

Sybil was looking over his shoulder and Tom turned his head and his own eyes widened as he noticed…her Christmas tree was lit again.

He whirled his head back to her, and she stared up at him, and they both said at the same time, "the power."

That was when they separated and they both rushed to their own rooms, flicking on a light switch and lo and behold…there was light. Soon they were running all over the flat, flicking every switch they could find, from ones on the wall, to individual lamp switches. The entire flat was illuminated in light, and if that wasn't proof enough that the power was back on, the sudden, loud, clunking sounds coming from the radiators that sat beneath the windows of their flat, confirmed it.

"It's back…" Sybil whispered, looking at him from across the room.

Tom nodded his head, just…in complete awe, as if he were first witnessing the invention of the lightbulb.

A happy squeal escaped Sybil's lips and Tom couldn't help but grin back at her as she cried, "it's back!" and then ran across the room and threw her arms around him in a great, big hug. He caught her and laughed and returned the hug, but his smile slowly faded as he realized that with the power returning, so too was reality returning.

It seemed as if the spell which had been woven over them just a few seconds ago, had ended, and Sybil…this wonderful, incredible woman who he cared so deeply for, who…who was unlike any other friend he ever had, who meant more to him than any other friend…

"Tom!" she cried, grasping his shoulders and grinning up at him. "Do you realize what this means? We can have HOT food! WE CAN HAVE TEA!"

Tom did laugh at that, despite himself. Earlier, when she had been giggling, he felt such wonderful warmth run through him, and he realized that of all the sounds in the world, the sound of Sybil's sweet laugh was one of the most beautiful. He loved hearing it, for the very reasons he had told her—because it meant she was happy. And he wanted her to be happy, more than anything, and…well, tea was something that made Sybil very happy, so he pushed aside his own worries about what was going to happen next between them, and forced a smile and eased himself away from her, before moving towards the kitchen.

"I'll make you a fresh pot…" he announced, opening up the tea cupboard. "And some soup as well—would you like that?" He looked over his shoulder at her and found Sybil sinking down into a chair, her cheeks red and her eyes seeming to look shyly down at the floor. Was she thinking about the kiss? Was she…embarrassed? Tom quickly turned his head back to the stove and took a deep breath. Things would only be awkward if they allowed them to be. Best to just…carry on.

 _Besides, it's your own damn fault,_ he silently chastised. _She was bearing her heart and soul to you, and you took advantage, kissing her as you did. How is that any different than what you did this morning? Feeling her up while she was asleep?_

"Is there a particular kind of tea that you would like?" he asked her, his back still to her and his hands busy opening a can of chicken noodle soup.

There was a pause, and then Sybil murmured, "English breakfast, please."

Tom nodded his head and reached for the kettle, filling it with water and placing it on the burner while dumping the can of soup into a saucepan and turning on the heat. His own stomach growled at the smell of the broth; he hadn't realized how hungry he was for hot food until the opportunity to have some had finally returned.

Silence filled the room then, and as Tom had feared…it was incredibly awkward. The radiators still clunked, the soup and tea kettle simmered, but the silence between the both of them was deafening.

"You can now charge your phone," Tom found himself saying, wincing a little at the words he had chosen to speak. He didn't want to sound like he was lecturing her on what to do.

"Already done," Sybil answered from behind him. "I did it when I ran into my room earlier."

"Good…" Tom murmured, not sure how else to respond. "Do you um…do you think you'll try to ring them tonight?"

He didn't hear Sybil respond right away, but he imagined her shrugging her shoulders somewhat indifferently.

"It's the middle of the night back home," she murmured at last. "I fear that if I ring now, I'll only worry Mum further…or does that sound ridiculous? God, I haven't even checked to see how many messages she's left." There was another pause, and then in a determined tone, Sybil announced, "I'll ring her first thing in the morning."

Tom nodded his head in agreement with her as he continued to stir the soup that simmered in the saucepan before him. "I'll do the same with mine," he added, after a pause. "Ring my family, I mean."

"I know," Sybil assured him, before adding, "Though what will you tell your mother should she ask to speak with 'Simon' again?"

At that, Tom chuckled, and he heard Sybil softly giggle behind him. Curious, he looked over his shoulder at her and asked, "Has your family ever asked to speak with 'Tonya'?"

Sybil shook her head. "They ask after her, or rather, _you_ , but I'm afraid to say they haven't requested to speak with my flatmate."

"Well, to be honest, it wasn't until now that Mam asked to directly speak with you, or 'Simon'," he explained. "Though she does ask after you…and I think she's concerned about you." His face grew red, realizing what he was saying. "Not that there's anything to be concerned about, I mean I haven't said anything that would—"

"She sounds very sweet," Sybil interrupted, a reassuring smile spreading across her face in an effort to ease him. While "sweet" wouldn't be Tom's first word of choice to describe his mother, he knew that his mother would be flattered by the compliment if she had heard it.

The tea kettle began to scream then, thus saving Tom from having to add or say something further on the subject. He removed the kettle, and poured the boiling water into two mugs, allowing the tea to steep while he finished up cooking the soup.

"I have bowls and spoons," Sybil announced, surprising Tom by suddenly appearing next to him. Her smile was warm and friendly, as it usually was, and every bit as infectious too. He smiled back at her, though again, inside, his heart continued to sink. Things were different, but not in the way he had wanted them to be (if that made any sense).

Tom took one of the bowls Sybil had brought, and carefully ladled the hot soup into it, before handing it back and offering her one of the mugs of tea. She smiled, and even stood up on her tip toes to press a kiss against his cheek, before turning back to the table and settling down with her soup and tea. She waited for him, though he could tell she was eager to dive into the hot food.

"Bon appetite!" Tom announced as he settled down with his own bowl and mug.

"Wait!" Sybil cried, surprising him when she lifted her mug as if to offer a toast. "I know it's not the same as whiskey, but even so…it's _still_ Christmas."

A faint smile spread across his face at the memory of their afternoon with the whiskey bottle, and he nodded his head, before lifting his mug and giving her a more genuine smile. "To heat and electricity," Tom toasted, earning a giggle from Sybil.

"To hot soup and hot tea!" she added.

Tom chuckled and gazed back at her, his heart swelling even more as he looked at her. God, she was lovely—she just radiated such beauty, especially when she smiled. He wanted to touch her, to cover her hand with his and feel her fingers lace with his own before giving it a gentle squeeze.

This was more than mere attraction. This was more than physical lust (though that existed too). In the short time he had known her, Sybil Crawley had become his dearest friend. And…sometime within the past twenty-four hours, she had become even more to him. Or perhaps she already had been, and he was only now just realizing it? He found that to be even more believable.

"Tom?" He was shaken from his thoughts by her voice. "You haven't touched your soup…I mean, I know it's just simple, canned chicken noodle, but it's really delicious!"

He chuckled at that, and finally turned his attentions to his own bowl. The silence that followed wasn't as awkward as before, but part of that was because they were both savoring the warmth and taste of the hot soup and tea. At one point, Sybil announced that she was going to make those ginger snaps as she had always planned to do (before their little power outage), but Tom convinced her (despite the way his stomach growled at the mention of the sweet biscuit) to wait until tomorrow before she started baking.

"I won't burn the kitchen down, if that's what you're afraid of," she groaned, though there was a teasing tone to her words.

"It's not that, though now that you mention it, it probably is wise to go easy on the oven since it's only just now gotten electricity back."

"Fine, tomorrow I'll make the biscuits _and_ while they're baking, we can watch _Doctor Who_."

Tom laughed at her determination, before giving in and nodding his head in agreement.

"And hopefully the pavement will be plowed well enough that at the very least, we can go and have a feast at the restaurant on the corner."

"Oh God, _yes,_ " Sybil groaned, her voice sounding positively orgasmic, which did have an effect on Tom's body. He shifted somewhat uncomfortably in his chair.

"I think we'll have to go there twice, actually…" Sybil murmured, more to herself. "Or at the very least, go there for a meal, and then take a great deal home."

Tom smiled at that, and again felt his heart swell at hearing Sybil refer to their flat as "home". It wasn't the first time she had done so, and he had called it that too, on occasion. They both still thought of their respective homelands as "home" as well, but…there was just something so… _right_ , in thinking and referring to this place where they both lived as "home".

They continued chatting about this and that, and Tom realized they were once again settling back into the "normalcy" of things. He loved that about them, the ease which they seemed to have with one another. But at the same time, he still couldn't shake that feeling of disappointment. _Was it really all just some kind of…figment of my imagination?_ She had initiated the kiss, but he had initiated the situation—drawing her into his arms, leading her through a dance, holding her close even when they had stopped dancing, and then running his lips across her face when she had been crying…

He had manipulated the situation. That, coupled with the high bursts of emotion and the whiskey they had consumed, not to mention the awkwardness of that morning and the previous night…

 _It was all in my head. I have no one to blame but myself for any feelings of heartbreak._ And that was exactly what he was feeling.

"Tom?"

He looked up, his eyes first focusing on his hand, which was lying face down on the table, and was presently covered by Sybil's. He lifted his eyes to her face, and saw the sweet concern in their blue depths, and he immediately felt his cheeks burn.

"Is everything alright—?"

"Aye, it is, sorry," he muttered, before digging his spoon into his soup. "Um…what were you saying?" She had been speaking to him when his mind had started to wander.

Sybil eyed him somewhat suspiciously, before repeating herself. "I said you never asked me about 'the iceberg'."

Tom's brow furrowed. "Iceberg?"

Sybil nodded. "Remember when I told you that the reason I decided not to go back to Downton for Christmas was simply the 'tip of the iceberg'?"

He did remember, but he was still confused. "I thought you were talking about your mother and her wanting you to come home?"

"No…that's just one of many layers," she sighed. "No, this reason was…well, to be perfectly frank, it had to do with my mother playing matchmaker."

"Matchmaker?" Tom repeated, his frown deepening at the word.

Sybil nodded. "Apparently 'the right, honorable Larry Grey' is single again!" she announced, with all the mockery the statement deserved. "And Mum is very keen on the two of us hitting it off."

Tom had never even met the bloke, and already he hated him. "Oh?"

Sybil groaned and nodded again. "I've known Larry for much of my life; his father is my sister Mary's godfather. And...honestly, that's the only thing we have in common, because he's just…the most boorish, brainless, conceited oaf—"

Tom had to the bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. When was the last time he had heard someone use the word "oaf" in a conversation?

"—his politics are nothing like mine, he believes a woman's place is to stand behind her husband and offer him nothing but the fullest support in all his endeavors—"

"Good Lord, your Mum is completely off with this guy."

"I KNOW!" Sybil threw her hands up. "And I've told her that, but she says, 'oh well, just give him a chance, he speaks very highly of you, says he misses you, wants to see you again,' blah, blah, blah, ugh!" she sagged back into her chair and folded her arms across her chest. "Apparently she and Papa had invited the Greys to come and spend Christmas with us, and I don't simply mean come and have Christmas dinner, I mean spend the ENTIRE WEEK, from Christmas to New Year's, at Downton."

Tom's eyebrows rose at this. "Wow…your mother is determined."

Sybil sighed and nodded. "My sister Edith tipped me off back in early December. Both she and Mary are married, and…I don't know, I mean, I do believe Mama means well, she wants to see me 'happy' like Mary and Edith, of course the difference being that they actually LOVE their husbands," she groaned.

Tom nodded. "And maybe…well, maybe she's hoping that if the two of you do hit it off, you'd come back home for good?"

Sybil sighed. "That thought did occur to me too." She lifted her eyes once again and met his gaze. "I hated that I had to lie, but…but I honestly couldn't see any other way!"

"I understand that, Sybil, I do," he murmured, and feeling so bold, reached out and squeezed her shoulder. "But…you can't stay away forever—meaning, you can't let something like this keep you from seeing your family and ruining your Christmas—"

"But my Christmas wasn't ruined!" Sybil insisted, sitting up straighter and even leaning towards him slightly. "To quote this cheeky Irishman I know, 'that's impossible, because you're here'."

Tom stared back at her, and then a laugh slowly made its way out of his throat. "Well…I am glad to hear that," he murmured, meaning it more than she possibly knew. "But…even so, it's your life—you know that better than anyone. And you've made all the decisions about what you want to do, and where you want to go to learn, despite their misgivings or disagreements. They haven't stopped you yet, so don't let _this_ stop you from seeing them if you want to see them and your home."

Sybil didn't say anything; she simply sat there, seeming to let his words wash over her. Then, glancing back at him, she murmured, "I'm sorry I lied to you."

"Don't be," Tom shook his head. "You've nothing to apologize for."

But Sybil didn't seem convinced. "I told you I was working because…well, as self-centered as this sounds, because I didn't want you to feel 'sorry' for me, and…" she sighed and looked down. "And I knew how much you were looking forward to flying back to Dublin, and I didn't want to ruin that with my moanings about family—"

"You wouldn't have ruined it," he insisted, leaning towards her and cupping her face in his hands. The gesture practically seemed second-nature. "And it's not self-centered, it's the truth; I would have felt sorry," he confessed, earning a small giggle from her. "Actually…I may have tried to convince you to fly to Dublin with me!"

Sybil stared at him, blinked several times, before murmuring, "and how would you have introduced me to your mother? 'Hello, this is my flatmate, Simon'?"

Tom laughed. "Well…maybe it's time I come clean to my mother, and tell her the truth about Simon."

Sybil pressed her lips together. "And what truth is that?"

Was she hinting at something? Or again, was that his imagination, longing for something more?

"We've both admitted that our families would go 'spare' if they knew that we're living with people of the opposite gender," she murmured. "Even though it's…perfectly innocent."

The way she said "perfectly innocent", didn't sound "innocent" at all.

"Tom…" she breathed his name in such a way that it sent delicious chills down his spine. "I've been thinking…"

He swallowed, and his eyes once again fell to her lips. "What have you been thinking?" he whispered.

"The heat has only just started working," she began. "And we both know how long it can take for this flat to get to a comfortable temperature…"

He mutely nodded his head and watched as her fingers fell to space between them, seeming to play with the edges of his shirt.

"I'm sure your room is still freezing…"

"Aye," he confirmed, his eyes never leaving her fingers.

"And you shouldn't sleep in there…"

"No…" he whispered in agreement.

"And my room…" she murmured, causing him to lift his eyes back to her gaze, which looked every bit as heated as his body felt. "While my room isn't as cold as yours, is still quite chilly…so…" she leaned towards him. "Perhaps…" her lips drew closer. "It would be wise…?"

"Aye," Tom answered, before finally, drawing her mouth back to his and kissing her deeply once again.

 _To be concluded..._

* * *

 _So I decided to save my A/N for the end rather than the beginning. I know, I know, still another chapter left, but THAT ONE *WILL* be the last, and I've already started it, in fact, I'm determined to have it posted this weekend, so you won't have to wait very long ;o) but this was getting to be quite long, and while yes, I could have edited it down, at the same time...I really liked all the awkward explanation of feelings, and felt it was needed, to show that what they were feeling was more than just lust for the other, but that there was something deeper too, so I hope you don't mind *too much* on the delay for sexytimes ;o) But I did promise a kiss, as well as an explanation for why Sybil chose to stay!_

 _Big thanks to everyone for their patience, especially dear **mimijag** ; my muse took an unexpected winter retreat, but she is back now, and like I said, next chapter will come before the weekend is over-I PROMISE!_


	6. Christmas Night

_And here it is-THE FINAL CHAPTER!_

 _First off, thank you so much for reading and for your support as I wrote this. Also, thank you for your patience as I struggled with my muse during the latter half of this story. But I really am pleased with the direction this took, and I hope you like it too! And yes, this chapter does have the smut I know many of you are eager for ;o) but also...I really hope you like the part that *follows*, because I have to be honest, for me, that's some of my proudest work. So I hope you like it and again, thank you so much for letting me continue "Christmas" well after the holiday season ended._

 _And thank you, of course, to **mimijag** for the prompt! I really hope you like this! And without further ado..._

* * *

 _CHRISTMAS NIGHT_

Sybil wasn't sure when her body left her chair. She wasn't sure when exactly she found herself straddling Tom's lap, or how long she was there, writhing against him while they kissed, or when the exact moment was that his hands found their way to her backside and he unceremoniously scooped her up and set her on the table, causing their empty soup bowls and tea mugs to rattle. All that she was sure about was the kiss he was giving her; the kiss she was returning. The heat of his mouth, the way his lips caressed hers, urging her mouth to open, her mouth opening all too happily, and then the seductive taste and feel of his tongue. Sybil whimpered, Tom moaned, and their kiss continued to deepen. They were hungry for each other, desperate for one another, and their mouths only tore apart long enough for Sybil (with Tom's help) to get her jumper up and over her head.

"God, you're beautiful," Tom groaned as he tossed the jumper over his shoulder and returned to kissing her, his hands running along the curve of her waist, down to her hip, around the back to squeeze her rump.

Sybil giggled and moaned as she felt Tom's lips move from hers to her jawline, and then down her neck. "You…you haven't even seen me—"

"Yes, I have," he assured her, his hands now framing her face, his eyes looking back deeply into her own. "I see you…" he repeated, while his fingers softly caressed her cheek. "And you are so, _so_ beautiful…"

Sybil gazed back at him, moved and humbled by his tender declaration. She opened her mouth to say his name, but his lips returned to hers, and once again she was lost in the heat and passion of their hungry kiss.

She was surprised that she wasn't more…surprised…by this turn of events. Tom was kissing her. TOM WAS KISSING HER! Or rather, Tom had kissed her, and was kissing her again! And more than just kissing, it was plain to the universe what they had every intention of doing (and hopefully quite soon!) But instead of feeling shock or even amazement at what was unfolding, she simply felt joy, relief, desire, and most of all, happiness.

Everything just felt so _right_.

"Tom…" she gasped, as his lips began kissing and nipping at the skin of her neck and throat. "Tom…"

He lifted his head, looking sweetly concerned, worrying perhaps that he had hurt her (far from it—she wanted more, and a voice in her head was screaming at her for making him stop). But even though this felt so right to her, she wanted to just check, one last time.

"Tom," she reached up and cupped his face in her hands. "You do realize, that…that you're kissing me, yes?"

He looked a little confused by her question. "Aye, I'm aware…" his gaze fell to her lips and Sybil practically whimpered at the heated look of longing he was giving her. _Oh stop talking and get back to more important things!_

"Me," she repeated, bringing his attention back to her eyes. "Your flatmate, your…" she blushed and said the next word rather shyly, "your friend."

Tom stared at her, and even eased himself away slightly. Oh no! She hadn't meant to do that, she wasn't trying to push him away or discourage him from—

"Do you _not_ want me to be kiss you?"

Sybil's eyes widened at the cautious question. He looked pained, and she swore she saw the muscles in his neck throb ever so slightly, as if the restraint he was forcing himself to obey was causing him physical pain.

"No! I didn't mean that, not at all—"

"So you _do_ want me to kiss you?"

A bubble of laughter burst from her throat. "God, yes! I don't want you to stop!"

"Oh, thank God!" he groaned, moving in to kiss her again, but her fingers rose to stop him, just momentarily.

"But…but this is ok? With you?" Tom looked confused again, but he also (bless him) looked patient as well. "Meaning…us…together, like this," she clarified. Oh Lord, she was making this far more complicated, wasn't she? She swallowed and looked at him bravely. "You want this?"

Tom gazed back at her for a long moment, as if allowing everything that was transpiring between them to finally sink in. He shook his head then and straightened up. "No," he murmured, and Sybil's eyes went wide and her heart plummeted into her stomach. But then…oh, then he had the AUDICITY to grin back at her in that cheeky way of his, before he moved in close and pressed his forehead against her now. "I want _you."_

He laughed as she groaned and then began to pummel her fists against his chest. "You're horrible!" she accused. But then Tom caught her wrists and brought them up high, over her head, and his mouth returned to hers, and she moaned against his lips as he kissed her and eased her back onto the table.

"Forgive me," he breathed against her lips as his own trailed across her cheek.

"Not bloody likely!" she huffed, though her body was betraying her as it tingled with need, the sensation of his mouth, kissing her neck, while his hands played with the buttons on her pajama top.

"Please, Sybil?" he murmured against her ear, his lips finding her lobe and gently catching it between his teeth. "Please forgive me?"

"Oooohh God," Sybil panted, small gasps escaping her lips at both the feel of his lips on her ear and his fingers on her stomach. He continued to undo the buttons. "M-m-maybe…" she stammered, gasping again as she felt his fingers, cool compared to the heat of her body, slide up and under the flannel fabric of her top.

"Maybe?" he whispered, his lips once again returning to her neck. She could feel him smiling against her skin, the stubble from his unshaven chin caressing her flesh as he kissed down the side of her neck until he reached the slope where her neck and shoulder came together. Here, he concentrated on the place where he had kissed her in his sleep that morning. Sybil gasped and tilted her head to the side, allowing him more access. Meanwhile, his fingers were continuing to slide up and push the fabric of her top higher and higher, until it was bunched just under her breasts, leaving her stomach completely exposed. Her own hands, which originally he had pushed up over her head and had been hanging somewhat limply there ever since, came back to life and immediately fell to his shoulders, tugging aggressively on the fabric of his shirt, wanting— _needing_ —to feel his own skin, desperately.

"Maybe," she repeated again, "if you…" she kept tugging on his shirt, "…get this…off…"

"Ah! Sybil!"

She had gotten his shirt up over his ears, thus cutting off his mouth and nose, practically cutting off his breathing, all in the effort to rid him of his clothes.

"Oh, sorry," she apologized, blushing but giggling as Tom straightened up, gave her a look, before grabbing the back of his shirt and finally tugging it up over his head himself. Like her, he too had been wearing multiple layers, but managed to pull all those layers off, leaving his chest deliciously naked for her eyes to see and her hands to caress.

"Satisfied, milady?" he teased, tossing his shirts aside.

Sybil answered by sitting up and grabbing hold of his shoulders, causing Tom to cry out as she pulled him back down to her, their heads colliding with a rather loud "thunk".

"Oooowwwwww," they both groaned, rubbing their individual foreheads. Tom looked down at her and Sybil gave him a little apologetic smile. "I swear, I really am trying _not_ to break you."

Tom blinked, and then burst out laughing. "Well…I suppose I should be flattered by your impatience," he teased.

Sybil rolled her eyes, but she couldn't help but giggle, especially at the cheeky wink he gave her. "And you're not?" she challenged, looking down at her body and noticing that only two buttons remained on her pajama top.

Tom followed her eyes, and his cheeky grin transformed into one of heated desire. "Oh, I'm very impatient…" he growled, sending a delightful shiver down Sybil's spine.

"Well…since you were so kind to help me…" she purred, blushing at how thick she was laying it on, but loving it too…because it was with him.

Tom watched as her hands moved to those last buttons and she undid them quickly, and then with a deep breath, tugged the fabric apart, revealing her own naked flesh to his eyes.

Tom's eyes widened. "You're…" he forced his eyes to look up into her own. "You're not wearing a bra?"

Sybil bit her lip to hold back her giggle. "I don't wear a bra when I go to sleep, and I've been in my pajamas all day, so…" She blushed as she spoke those words, and then a moment of horror washed over her as she realized that not only had she been wearing her pajamas the entire day, but that hadn't showered and could only imagine the terror that was her hair. And…oh Lord, when was the last time she had brushed her teeth? And not just her breath, but did her body smell? Had she remembered to put deodorant on earlier? Oh God, she couldn't recall! Why wasn't he reeling away from her in disgust?

"Oh!" Sybil gasped and then moaned as she felt his hand, large and now warm, slide up her torso and cup her right breast.

"Beautiful…" he whispered, looking down at her with both longing and reverence. He gently squeezed her breast, and then his thumb gently circled her nipple, tracing the soft bumps of the areola, before finally brushing the tip and winning a pleasured whimper from her lips.

"I have a confession to make…" he whispered, causing her to open her eyes (which had drifted shut as she enjoyed the sensation of his hands on her flesh). She looked up at him through hooded lashes, confused and curious, as well as desperate for more. Tom grinned and bent his head to kiss her collarbone. "Last night…when I walked into the bathroom?" he began. "Even though I tried to turn away as quickly as I could…I still caught a glimpse."

Sybil's eyes widened and her blush grew even darker. "Well…" she cleared her throat and fixed him with a look. "Aren't you the naughty boy."

He chuckled at this and then dropped a kiss to the top of her breast, causing all manner of coherent thought to leave her mind. "I confess…I haven't been able to stop myself from thinking about your body ever since."

Sybil reached out and brushed his fringe away from his head, causing him to look up at her. "You aren't the only one."

He looked intrigued by this, and then that cheeky grin returned and with a wink, he murmured, "And you denied you weren't checking out my arse."

She would have swatted him if she could, but again, all manner of thought and speech were rendered from her, when his breath hovered over her straining nipple. Needing him to touch her, she arched her back up off the table, practically offering herself to his mouth, and he didn't hesitate. "Oooohhh Tom…" she moaned, as his mouth and tongue pleasured her breast. His other hand rose up and began to gently squeeze and fondle the other, his mouth soon following. Sybil writhed beneath him, her fingers tangling in his hair as he went back and forth from her left breast to her right. "Mmmmm…oohhh don't stop," she whimpered, gasping as she felt his teeth close around one of her nipples and softly tug. "Yesssssss…oohhh God, that feels so good…"

He kissed the valley between her breasts and lifted his head to look down at her. "So does that mean I'm forgiven then?" he cheekily asked.

She rolled her eyes and then a wicked gleam illuminated them. "I don't know…" she sighed, trying to look as if she were deep in thought. "Perhaps…?"

Tom lifted an eyebrow. "Perhaps?"

Sybil bit her lower lip, and despite the sudden feel of bashfulness, tried to give him her best seductive smile. "Well…perhaps if you prove to me that it's true…?"

His hands had moved down to her hips, and she felt his fingers run along the edge of her pajama bottoms. "Prove _what_ is true?" he coaxed.

"What you said…" she breathily answered, lifting her hips slightly off the table surface (as if he needed a clue).

"What did I say?" he innocently asked, as he gave her bottoms a tug, causing Sybil to both gasp as he not only took her pajamas, but her knickers as well. She wasn't a stranger to sex, but she was starting to see what Madonna meant in her song _"Like a Virgin"._

"About…" she swallowed, blushing deeply as she knew her entire body was now exposed to him. "About…enjoying…"

"Enjoying…?"

He was going to make her say it, the cheeky bastard. But it was exactly the kind of thing she would do to him, if their situations were reversed, she had to admit. Perhaps that was why it just felt so right with him? They were so alike; one another's equals.

"You admitted to…" her voice rose an octave as she felt him spread her legs apart. "…To enjoying…going down on a woman…"

Her chest was rising and falling rapidly in anticipation, and she let out a gasp as his breath hit her inner thigh.

"Close," he chuckled, bending his head and dropping a gentle kiss on her pelvic bone. "I said," he kissed the inside of her left thigh, "I love," the inside of her right, "going down on a woman…"

Sybil's lips parted and she moaned Tom's name as well as several other words, none if it coherent, as his mouth did that very thing.

She heard the sounds of a chair scraping across the kitchen floor, and that was when she realized he was more or less "tucking in" to her. "Oh Sybil…" he groaned her name into her core, and she gasped as she felt his tongue slide along the length of her slit, parting the folds and dipping in to taste her, tentatively at first, but then with growing hunger and intensity. Sybil's hands gripped the edges of the table as he surprised her by hoisting her up a little higher, settling her thighs on shoulders, getting even closer. "God, you taste so good," he groaned, his voice muffled because he was too busy making love to her with his mouth. And God, it felt good.

"Tom!" she gasped, as his tongue circled the hood of her clit, and then she shrieked his name a second time as he flicked her, gentle at first, but then harder, and then he wrapped his lips around her clit and sucked it and she let out a scream that if their neighbors were home, they'd be pounding on the walls.

"Mmmmm…" Tom groaned, although Sybil swore she also heard him chuckle. She didn't care, in fact the chuckling sent delicious vibrations through her body. She reached down, finding his head, and her fingers threaded through his hair, even gripping the strands as she urged him on.

"Don't stop…please…don't stop!"

She felt him shake his head, as if promising her that he wouldn't. His hands gripped her hips and he burrowed his mouth even closer, his tongue thrusting inside her, mimicking something else that she couldn't wait to feel before the night was over. But in the meantime…oh God, he was good!

"Oh, FUCK!" she swore, as felt his finger thrust into her body, while his tongue returned to her clit and lapping and flicking and driving her mad! She felt him smile, and again heard him chuckle, but he didn't stop, nor did he slow down. Soon another finger joined the first, and the thrusting increased. Sybil felt his fingers curl and she started to tremble as they offered a clever "come hither" motion. "Tom…I…Tom, oh God, _TOM!"_

To say that her orgasm was intense would be an understatement. It had been a while since Sybil had had sex…and even longer since she had had _good_ sex. And she honestly (sadly) couldn't remember the last time a man had made her come by going down on her (she hadn't been lying when she had told Tom most guys thought of it as a chore). But there was no denying that the orgasm she had just experienced was certainly one of the best. "Wow…" she panted, staring up at the ceiling of their kitchen, her legs feeling like rubber. Her eyes widened at the realization that her flat mate had just gone down on her and made her come ON THE KITCHEN TABLE! Perhaps some women would be disgusted or embarrassed by this? Thankfully, she wasn't one of those women.

She lifted her head and looked down at him, blushing deeply at the sight of his brow resting against thigh. She could hear him panting, as if he were catching his breath after a marathon. "Tom?" she murmured, reaching down to run her hand through his hair. He lifted his head and gave her a lazy smile, before kissing her thigh and then pelvis, and then kissing a path up her body, over her stomach, between her breasts, giving her throat a gentle nip, before kissing her chin, the tip of her nose, and then finally, her lips.

Her blush darkened as she tasted herself on his lips. "Thank you," he whispered, when he lifted his head and smiled down at her.

 _He_ was thanking _her?_ Shouldn't it be the other way around?

"You're welcome," she mumbled, rather bashfully. And because she couldn't help herself, she added, "well…you certainly proved yourself."

He lifted an eyebrow at this. "Did I?"

She nodded, her face a deep shade of scarlet. "At least you seemed to have…enjoyed yourself."

He chuckled and allowed his lips to graze her cheek once again. "Aye, I did," he murmured. "And um…did you?"

Two could play this game. "Did I…?"

He lifted his head and looked back down at her. She smiled innocently up at him.

"Well, you certainly _sounded_ like you 'enjoyed'—"

"You are frightfully full of yourself, aren't you?"

His eyes twinkled and he bent his head to whisper in her ear, "I'd rather _you_ be frightfully full of _me—_ "

She cut him off by grabbing his head and bringing his mouth to hers, robbing him of his breath and thrusting her tongue into his mouth. Tom groaned and melted into the kiss, but he wasn't going to be outdone, and he kissed her back, with the same ferocity as she was kissing him.

Her legs, which seemed to have recovered, rose up and wrapped themselves around his waist, drawing him to her. As if by instinct, his lower body thrust towards hers, and Sybil gasped at the feel of his body, hard and no doubt aching for freedom from his trousers, rubbing against hers. She leaned up, one arm wrapped around his shoulders for leverage, while her other hand pushed at his gym trousers, tugging at the waistband, and then moving around to find his cock and feel him with her hand as her rump had the joy of feeling him both last night and early this morning.

Tom tore his mouth away from hers as her fingers cupped him through his trousers. "Woah, woah, love, hang on…" he panted.

"I want you," Sybil moaned, her lips mimicking his from earlier, kissing down his jawline, moving to his neck, nipping at the skin, grinning to herself as she imagined the mark she was leaving.

"I know, oh God, I know…" he groaned. "I want you too, _badly_ , but…"

The haze cleared from Sybil's eyes at his words. "But?"

"But…well, a few things," he began. "One…I don't know about you, but…I'd prefer our first time to be on a bed, rather than the kitchen table," he explained with a bit of a sheepish grin.

Sybil blushed, but had to admit, she agreed with him.

"And…before we go any further…" Her eyes widened as she realized what he was saying.

"Oh God, please tell me you have—"

"I do," he assured her, and then chuckled as she let out a sigh of relief.

"That's good, because…I don't care if it's Christmas and it's freezing outside, I'm prepared to go trekking through several feet of snow to find an all-hours chemist if I have to!"

He threw his head back and laughed, but the smile he gave her was sweet and caring. "I'm deeply moved that you would do that."

She blushed but smiled. "Well…it's not entirely for unselfish reasons, mind you," she said with a wink.

Tom laughed again, and then scooped her up off the table and carried her the short distance to her bedroom before depositing her with a playful plop. "Don't move," he told her, before rushing away as quickly as he could (with his trousers falling down as he went, providing Sybil with a delicious view of his naked arse).

Sybil eagerly pushed the covers back and shrugged off her open pajama top, and removing the thick socks which still covered her feet. She also grabbed a breath mint from her desk drawer and popped it in her mouth (just for her own peace of mind). She jumped at what sounded like shelves falling, followed by Tom's swearing. "Are you alright!?" she called out through the wall, wondering if she should go and see, but when she turned her head back to the door, her eyes widened at the sight of Tom, panting and looking a little disheveled, standing in her open doorway.

"A few things fell when I was trying to get the condom box," he explained.

Sybil's eyes widened even more, both for the fact that he had brought an entire box of condoms with him and for the fact that…he was standing in her doorway, quite naked.

Despite his earlier "seductive competence", he seemed rather bashful. But to Sybil, there was no need; he was gorgeous (not that she hadn't already thought that when they were both clothed), but this was the first time she was seeing him completely naked and…she couldn't take her eyes off of him.

Nor could she wait another moment longer to get him into her bed.

Without word or warning, she rose up and crossed the room in two strides (though to be fair, it was a small room) and wrapped her arms around him and drew him flush against her, gasping at the feel of his skin against hers, smiling and whimpering as she felt his own arms pull her tight against him. She could feel _everything_ —her hairs of his chest scraping against her nipples, the muscles of his forearms and biceps encaging her, and then of course, there was the matter of a certain portion of him (a rather large portion of him), hard and erect, brushing against her belly.

His skin felt like it was on fire! Which was only fitting, as she knew hers was.

Tom lowered his mouth to kiss her, but stopped short and let out a groan as Sybil didn't hesitate to wrap her fingers around his cock. "Ooooohhh fuck," he swore, gasping even louder as she ran her hand up and down the length of him.

Sybil smiled and leaned up until her forehead touched his. "You're beautiful…" she whispered to him, repeating the sentiment he had earlier spoken to her. She had wanted to touch him so badly, she wanted to give him pleasure the same way he had given pleasure to her. "You feel wonderful," she told him, meaning every word as her hands continued to caress him.

Tom sucked in a breath and looked back at her, his eyes dark and hazy with passion. It wasn't a lie, he did feel wonderful; hard and warm in her palms. She loved the texture of him, smooth in some places, rough in others. And she loved seeing the pleasure on his face, loved that she could give him that pleasure, and wanting to give him more.

Rising up on her tip toes, she whispered in his ear, "Do you taste as good as you feel?"

"Fuck, Sybil—"

"All in good time," she giggled, leaning in to press a kiss against his Adam's apple. With one hand on his hip, she drew him closer to the bed, and began to kiss down his body, giggling to herself at the chest hairs that tickled her nose, pausing momentarily to let her own tongue run across his nipples, before proceeding down further, and further, the backs of her knees hitting the edge of the bed and "causing her" to sit, right where she needed to be…

"Mmmmmmm…" Sybil purred as her tongue lapped at the tip of his cock, grinning as she heard him moan her name, and then moan it even louder as she opened her mouth and took him in.

"Oh, God…Sybil…" he groaned and gasped as she sucked, drawing him in deeper, and inwardly smiling to herself as his hands found the back of the back of her head and his fingers threaded into her hair. As if she needed any encouragement, she began to bob her head, delighting in his response.

Earlier, when Sybil had grumbled that most guys found going down on a woman to be a chore, she had to admit, that when it came to going down on a man, she found that to be a bit bothersome herself. Mainly because of the men she had slept with in the past, they were so adamant that she do this for them, that it was a "necessity", practically, before moving to the next activity, and yet the idea of "returning the favor"—well, they just couldn't be bothered.

But Tom was different. Tom…well, she actually _wanted_ to do this, and she loved hearing him groan her name and gasp when she did something he liked.

"Syb, Syb," he called out to her, his hands finding her shoulders in an attempt to momentarily push her away. "Syb, stop."

She did, and concern filled her eyes. Oh God! Had she hurt him? Did she cut him with her teeth? She had been so careful—

"God, you're amazing," he gasped, trying to regain control of his body. "That was incredible, truly, and I'm sorry for stopping you, but…I need you, I need you so much," he groaned, and then he was kissing her, and Sybil felt her body fall back upon the bed.

She understood the need he spoke, because her entire body was aching for him too, needing him just as desperately. She kissed him passionately back, and immediately wove her legs around his body, drawing him closer and pressing herself against him. They were lying on their sides, facing each other, and Sybil whimpered at the feel of his cock grazing her inner thigh. "Wait, wait," she gasped, and Tom seemed to realize what she meant, because they were both reaching for the box of condoms.

"Roll over," she told him, getting to the box first.

"Roll over?" Tom questioned. "Am I to wag my tail next?" he cheekily asked.

She rolled her eyes, and with a condom between her teeth, unceremoniously pushed him down until he was lying on his back and she was straddling his legs. "Your favorite, remember?" she said with a wink, reminding him of their conversation about favorite sexual positions.

"God, yes," he groaned, eagerly reaching for her, but she stopped him and with a wicked grin, wagged her finger and murmured, "patience…"

"Sybil…" he growled, but hand around his cock once again rendered him speechless.

"Just need to…" she tore the wrapper open with her teeth, quickly removed the condom, and thankfully managed to roll it down, despite her trembling fingers. Looking rather pleased with herself for her handiwork, she gasped when Tom took her by surprise and sat up and wove his arms around her, causing her to squeal as he rolled them over until she was one on her back.

 _"Your_ favorite, remember?" he growled, attacking her neck and finding that sensitive spot from earlier that had her moaning. And moan she did, especially when his fingers found their way once again to her core. "God, I love how wet you get," he growled in her ear, causing her to shiver.

"Tom…please…"

"Aye," he agreed, and settled himself between her parted legs, which she was once again wrapping around him, and then they both gasped as she felt him sink the hard length of his cock into her at last.

"Fuuuuuuuuuuuck…" he groaned, wincing as if he were in pain.

"Tom? What's wrong—?"

"Nothing!" he gasped through gritted teeth, his body going very still. His head was resting between her neck and shoulder and she could feel him panting. He lifted his head and looked a little apologetic. "Sorry; just…the feel of you, and Christ, you feel wonderful, is almost too much!"

She blushed but giggled softly, which only grew as he gave her a mock pout.

"Are you _laughing_ at me?"

She did her best to swallow her giggles, though it was difficult. "Actually, I'm rather flattered," she admitted. "I didn't realize I had such an effect on you."

She had meant the words in jest, but the look he gave her was one of sincere wonder. "You've always had that effect on me," he murmured, while a hand gently brushed away several wisps of dark brown hair from her face.

Sybil wet her lips, and swallowed an emotional lump. "Always?"

Tom nodded his head, and then bent to kiss her, whispering for he did, "always."

Their lips fused together, like magnets connecting. Their passions kindled, and they both moaned against the other as Tom finally began to move. With her legs hooked around his body, Sybil urged him, her hands running across the muscles of his back, gripping and scratching and clinging to his body as she moved with him, loving the feel of him around her, the feel of him inside her.

"Tom, Tom, Tom," she panted his name. He growled his approval as he quickened his movements, his strokes becoming longer, his thrusts growing deeper. It was heaven, pure heaven, and God, it felt wonderful— _he_ felt wonderful. But she wanted to make it better.

With a strength she didn't quite realize she possessed, Sybil squeezed her legs even tighter around his middle, and pushed with all her might at his left shoulder, throwing Tom off for a moment, and causing him to roll off her. But he didn't go far, and she went right with him.

"Jesus!" Tom gasped, but Sybil giggled as she crawled over him.

"Sorry," she sheepishly apologized. "At least this time there was a mattress to cushion your back."

Tom opened his mouth as if to say something cheeky, but she stopped him by covering his mouth with hers…and then won a pleasured hiss from his lips as she straddled his thighs, and then with expert fingers, stroked his cock before holding it steady and carefully lowering herself down.

"OOoohhh my God…!" Sybil gasped as she felt him fill her body, the angle making him feel even deeper than before.

"Christ, Sybil…" Tom groaned, his hands gripping her hips as she settled herself above him.

She smiled down and pressed the palms of her hands on his chest, and with a deep breath, lifted herself slightly, before bringing herself back down. They both swore the almighty's name.

"Fuck me," Tom groaned, his head falling back into her pillow.

Sybil giggled. "Isn't that what I'm doing?" She grounded herself even more, and smiled (as well as moaned) as she took in the sight of his pleasure.

"Don't stop," he urged, his hands gripping her hips, trying to show her how desperately he needed her. "Keep going, love, please…I need—"

"Me too," she gasped, and began to move with more, guided by his hands at first, but soon creating her own rhythm, one which he happily welcomed and began to follow.

Sybil continued to press her palms on his chest, and bent forward a little as she moved. She looked down at him and smiled at the pleasure on his face, the way his eyes drifted close as he allowed himself to be lost in the sensations of their bodies fused together. Remembering (in vivid detail) what he had told her that he loved so much about this position, she called out to him, causing him to open his eyes and look at her, and she threw her head back, just as he had described, and gasped his name in pleasure.

"Oh, Tom!" she moaned, riding harder.

Tom groaned and thrusted his hips upwards. "You're a goddess, Sybil."

She smiled at that and looked back at him. She reached for his hands which were now at her waist, and holding them firmly, brought them to her breasts and whimpered as he squeezed. "Is…is this what you like?" she panted, moving a little faster than before.

"Aye," he groaned, smiling himself as he rubbed her nipples. "Don't stop riding me, love, please don't stop."

"I won't, I won't," she promised with each movement.

"You're so beautiful," he groaned in awe.

Sybil blushed and gasped, especially as he thrusted himself even harder, practically causing her to bounce. Their movements were becoming more and more erratic, and Sybil could feel the pleasure building to a glorious crescendo.

Her eyes fluttered closed and her teeth bit her bottom lip hard as she kept moving, harder, deeper, faster—she screamed and her eyes flew open at the feel of his fingers, one hand moving away from her breasts to caress and tease her clit. "Come for me, love, come for me, please!"

She wordlessly nodded her head and kept moving, needing him to come with her, wanting him to come as desperately as he wanted her to.

Her core began to squeeze around his cock, and she could feel the tension surging, feel it reach a breaking point, and she still continued to move at a frenzy, finding the strength to do so, throwing her head back and screaming as her orgasm took hold and claimed her once again. "TOM!"

"Sybil! God, _SYBIL!"_ he roared, surging up until their bodies crashed together, and their mouths blindly found each other and they kissed one another, hard, as they trembled through the aftershocks.

Sybil gasped and melted against him, her entire body shaking from the pleasure she was experiencing, even better than the pleasure he had given her earlier. Tom murmured her name against her lips, and then Sybil moaned as she felt him roll them over once again, her back now pressing into the mattress, his body covering hers.

She continued to cling to him, her legs weaving and enfolding him, as well as her arms. She hugged him fiercely, her face burrowing into his shoulder, and happy tears stinging her eyes.

"Sybil…" he moaned her name in such a way that not only made her blush, but also made her feel treasured.

 _"…There's an intimacy; when two people hold each other like that…and…and that feeling of being held…cradled, even; your bodies pressed together…"_

A soft sob escaped her throat at the memory of what she had said to him, and the reality of what was happening.

Tom lifted his head at the sound and looked down at her, concern in his eyes. "Did I hurt you?" he asked, his face paling at the thought.

Sybil blushed, but shook her head, smiling up at him despite her tears. "No, I…" she groaned and lifted a hand to her eyes to wipe the tears away. "This never really happens to me," she mumbled. "I swear I'm not normally like this."

Tom smoothed a few sweaty strands of hair away from her face and gazed down at her in such a sweet, tender way, that it only caused her heart to swell and more tears to fall. Oh Lord, she truly had gone mad. "I'm fine, I swear," she tried to assure him, though she was fully crying now and he probably didn't believe her for a second.

He did smile, and then bent his head to kiss away her tears, while his arms moved under her, the back of his hands cradled her head. "Was this what you meant?" he whispered, his brow coming to rest against hers.

A breathy moan escaped her lips and she mutely nodded her head. Yes, this was exactly what she meant, but the truth was, she hadn't realized until this moment, _why_ this was her favorite position.

It was because of him.

"I…" she began, but then stopped herself. Tom looked down at her and waited, but she simply shook her head and smiled bashfully back at him. "I loved that," she told him.

A grin broke across his face, but there was nothing cheeky about it. "Me too," he murmured, and then rolled them over onto their sides, the two of them facing each other, their noses brushing, and their bodies still joined.

Sybil was elated at hearing him say that. This had been far better than anything she could have imagined. The best sex she had ever experienced, in the arms of her flatmate and dearest friend. But there was more to it as well, a great deal more.

She was tempted to ask him, _"so what happens now?"_ but she didn't want to ruin the moment just yet. She would be a fool to deny that what had just happened—what perhaps was happening between them—wasn't going to complicate things. Their relationship was completely different; they could never just be "chummy flatmates" as they had been before. They would need to come to an understanding, and that would take a very open and honest conversation, one that could possibly end in tears.

 _Have faith; you do him a discredit for assuming the worst—you do_ yourselves _a discredit._

"Sybil?"

She hadn't realized that her eyes had shut while she was contemplating these things. His hands had been running up and down her spine in a sweet, coaxing caress, that she had nearly fallen asleep.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you," he apologized. He leaned up and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. "Go back to sleep," he soothed.

But she didn't want to sleep. In fact…she wanted this night to go on forever, to enjoy it for as long as she could. "I'm not tired," she assured him.

He lifted an eyebrow at this. "You're not?"

She blushed and grinned back at him. "Not in the slightest. In fact…" fingers moved to his chest and began to tangle and play in the hairs there. "I was wondering if you could show me some of your other 'favorite positions'."

He blinked, and then a long, low groan rose up from his throat. He leaned forward and kissed her, deeply, before rolling her over onto her stomach and sneaking his hand under her body, causing her to gasp as he parted her folds with his fingers. "I'll show you mine if you show me yours," he growled into her ear.

She moaned and her back arched against his chest as his fingers wove their spell. "Agreed!"

* * *

In all honesty, Tom had lost track of the number of times they had made love. Or rather, he had lost track of the number of times they had made each other come. "A lot" seemed to be a safe, and somewhat understated agreement.

At several points during the night, he actually pinched himself, and even as the night wore on, and he grew more and more exhausted (in the best way possible), he didn't dare fall asleep, afraid that when he woke he would find himself in on the couch, or worse…actually _in_ his old bedroom in Dublin. God, please, don't let this be dream, he thought to himself when his eyes finally drifted shut and his body succumbed to sleep.

Thankfully, it wasn't. Sometime in the early morning on December 26, (St. Stephens Day in Ireland, Boxing Day in Britain, and simply…December 26 in America), he awoke. Nothing had caused him to wake, he simply…awoke. And a sleepy, satisfied, and relieved smile spread across his face at the sight of the beautiful woman, whose sleeping face was mere inches from his own.

Her hair was wondrously tousled, and he imagined that when she arose, it would be sticking in every direction. And he loved it. He loved everything about her, he…

He loved her.

He _loved_ her.

A long, shaky breath left his mouth as he finally came to terms with the realization. But was it really a "realization"? Hadn't he sort of realized it already? Last night, or before that even? At some point during their snowed-in and chilly Christmas Day together, hadn't he started to realize that he was falling in love with Sybil Crawley?

He had…and he wouldn't be surprised if he allowed himself to dwell long and hard on the subject, to find instances well before Christmas, that he was falling head over heels in love with her. But there was no mistake, now, in the early morning light of the day after Christmas (or according to Christian tradition, the "second day of Christmas"), he truly, genuinely, and deeply, was _in love_ with his flatmate.

 _Two turtle doves_ , he thought to himself, which did win a chuckle…and caused her to stir.

He held his breath as her eyes began to flutter open, hoping that this morning would be quite different to how their Christmas morning had begun. Through her beautiful, thick lashes, Sybil looked at him, and for a moment simply stared…and he watched as the memories from their night together played across her mind, reflected her eyes. And then came her blush; God, she had such a beautiful blush…

"Good morning," she softly greeted, to which he eagerly responded with a gentle kiss.

"It is now," he murmured after their lips parted, and his heart swelled at the happy smile that illuminated her face.

"Much better than yesterday," she admitted, which earned another chuckle from him.

"Aye, I was actually thinking the same thing," he admitted.

She bit her lip, and he noticed a bit of a guilty expression on her face. "I have a confession to make," she whispered. "Yesterday? When you…when you awoke and realized you were touching me?"

His face began to burn, but before he could say anything, she barreled through. "I was awake," she all but blurted.

Tom's mouth hung open, and then he closed it. Then he opened it again, and with a furrowed brow, repeated, "You were…awake?"

She nodded, looking rather guilty.

His frown deepened. "The…entire time?"

Her guilty expression only grew.

"So…so you were completely…aware…of what—"

"Of what was happening, yes," she groaned, and then buried her face in the hollow of his neck. "And I'm sorry I didn't tell you, I wanted to, I even thought about—"

"Why didn't you wake me?" he asked, not upset, just…curious.

Sybil lifted her head and now she was the one with the furrowed brow. "Wake you?"

"When it happened? When I was…" he blushed, but it was nothing compared to the blush on her own lovely face.

"Um…because…" she closed her eyes and let out a groan. "BecauseIlikeditanddidn'twantyoutostop."

Even though she had said it all in one great jumble, he had been able to make sense of her words. And he couldn't prevent the cheeky smile that spread across his face at her admission.

"So what you're saying…is that what happened last night _could_ have happened earlier—"

"I'm trying to sincerely apologize, Tom!" she attempted to swat his chest, but he caught her wrist and with a squeal, rolled the both of them over until once again, he was covering her.

"Lady Sybil, I am shocked," he tutted with mocking severity. "You let me go through the entire day, thinking I was some kind of sexual deviant—"

"Well, if last night proved anything—OH!" he had pinched her side, but before she could retaliate, he grabbed her other wrist and held it above her head as well.

"Hmmm…what sort of punishment is proper for such an offense?" He smiled to himself as he heard her suck in a breath as his lips moved to that special place where her neck and shoulder met. God, he loved kissing her all over, but there was something about this particular spot—

"Tom, wait."

He lifted his head, recognizing immediately that her tone was quite serious. He looked down at her, his eyes searching hers and seeing genuine concern and worry in their lovely blue depths. "What is it, love? What's wrong?" Was she still upset over not telling him about yesterday? Surely she knew he wasn't angry; how could he be after everything they shared last night—?

"I didn't want to say this yesterday," she mumbled, and he felt his body go cold at the way she spoke those words. Oh God, had he been wrong? He thought…he thought that surely she…felt something _similar_ to what he felt. But he had jumped to conclusions—he had made an assumption based on lust and emotion and now, in the cold light of day, reality was crashing back, and she was regretting everything that had happened—

"Everything's different now," she whispered, and his heart began to tear in two. He had been wrong. Oh God, he was such a fool. Such a bloody, stupid fool!

"And…and I can't go back," she continued, her voice softer. He had closed his eyes, but he didn't have to look at her to see her tears. He could hear them in her voice, and it made his heart break even more.

"No…no, of…of course not," he somehow managed to reply. It was even worse than he thought. Not only did she regret what they had done and see it as a huge mistake, but she was COMPLETELY finished with him—and why did that surprise him? It made perfect sense; how could they continue on, living under the same roof as they were, after everything that had happened?

This was worse than a break-up, because they hadn't had the chance to be a proper couple. And it was also worse because he was also losing his dearest friend, his _best friend_. Oh God, now he wished more than anything that this was a dream; please wake up, please wake up!

"Maybe it sounds…prudish, but…but I can't do it," she tearfully moaned. "I can't do the whole 'friends with benefits' thing—I don't know if I ever really could, but I _know_ I can't with you."

Tom froze at her words. _Friends with benefits?_

"Sybil," he opened his eyes again and looked down at her, his hands coming up to cup her face. "Sybil, what are you saying?"

She sniffled and looked up at him, her eyes shimmering with tears. "I…I'm sorry, Tom, I…I know this is going to complicate things and…and maybe it's all too fast or sudden, but…but I…I do care for you, so much, and…and you're my best friend—have I ever told you that? Maybe that's too much as well, but you are, you mean so much to me, and…and I don't want to lose you, but at the same time, I can't pretend that what happened between us was 'nothing'—"

"Sybil," he interrupted, and then slowly sat up, bringing her with him until they were both sitting up and facing each other. "What happened…that was the very opposite of 'nothing', I assure you."

A tearful smile met him at his words, but she still looked so uncertain. "Tom, I—"

"I love you."

Sybil's eyes went wide and her face went pale at the simple, but honest declaration.

There. He had said it. And while it was terrifying to admit, he had no regrets whatsoever.

"I love you," he repeated, swallowing his own tears down. "And…and I know that it's a lot to take in, and yes, you're absolutely right that this changes everything, but I want it too."

She blinked, and then mouthed his name but remained silent.

"I feel the same way," he continued, pushing on. "You're my best friend too, and I'm sorry I didn't tell you that sooner," he confessed. "But it's true, but…but you're more than that as well, I…I don't know when it happened exactly, but sometime over our Christmas holiday I realized I was falling in love with you, and this morning I woke up and realized that I was very much _IN_ love with you, and…" he gazed at her as his own tears began to fall. "And…and while I believe we can and will always be each other's dearest friends, I also know that I don't want to go back to how things were before last night. I want us to give this a chance at the very least…to give _us_ a chance, I—"

He was never as grateful as that moment to have his speech stopped. And it was even more wonderful because she was kissing him.

"I love you too," she gasped, when their lips parted. Her tear-stained cheeks were pressed against his, and her lips continued to kiss him as she repeated the words over and over. "I love you too, Tom, I've fallen in love with you too!"

And just like that, the shattered pieces of his heart became whole once again.

About hour later, they were both lying side by side on their backs, their bodies coated with a new sheen of sweat, and they were grinning like a couple of idiots. Couple, being the key word.

"Gwen's going to flip," Sybil panted after a moment.

Tom chuckled. "I have a feeling John isn't going to be so surprised."

"Maybe we should arrange a double-date?"

They both laughed then, all ease and tension-free. Like everything it seemed, when it came to the both of them, things just fell naturally. And that was probably what Tom loved the most about being with Sybil. It all just felt so… _right_.

"At least our landlord won't be confused," he mused. "He's always thought that we were dating."

"But what about our families?" Sybil asked, turning to look at him. "I mean, we really shouldn't carry on this charade about 'Tonya and Simon'."

"Aye," he said in agreement. "Maybe we can tell them that they ran away together?"

He laughed as she rolled over and swatted him, and then welcomed her weight as she crawled on top him. They kissed again, long and deeply, and Tom swore he could feel himself readying for another round. But then a thought dawned on him, and suddenly he couldn't stop laughing.

"What? What's so funny?" Sybil demanded, wanting to know what had him in stitches.

He tried to sober his face, but it was difficult. "Just…I was thinking of my mother," he explained, which caused Sybil to lift an eyebrow. "I was thinking…what would cause her to go spare more. The revelation that I'm in love with my flatmate? Or that I've been living with a woman this entire time?"

Sybil stared at him, and then she too burst out laughing. He smiled and nuzzled her neck as she did; God, it truly was a beautiful sound.

"Tom?"

He lifted his head from her neck and met her gaze. She smiled at him, and his heart swelled to the point where he thought surely it would burst.

"I'm glad your flight was grounded."

A wide grin broke across his face, and he rolled them over again, until his mouth was hovering over hers. "Me too, love," he admitted.

"Best worst Christmas," she breathed, before lifting her lips to meet his. He couldn't agree more.

 _ **The End**_

* * *

 _One more A/N! So I received a sweet guest review from someone suggesting that this story continue, seeing how their families react to the truth about "Simon" and "Tonya". And my answer? Well, we'll see ;o) I could see some drabbles for this universe in the future! That is, of course, if people are interested :oP  
_

 _THANK YOU AGAIN FOR READING!_


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